


Fixing You

by Crossover_Chick



Series: The Forgotten Vows Verse [12]
Category: American McGee's Alice, Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Multi, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Wonderland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 112,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossover_Chick/pseuds/Crossover_Chick
Summary: Victor and Alice would havelikedall their problems to have been over with the restoration of Victor's memories. But as 1876 starts, Alice is still dealing with Londerland hallucinations, and Victor's struggling with the after-effects of being Bumby's slave. Perhaps what they need is a change of scenery. . .and perhaps Dr. Fixxler and his uncommon cures can be of use. . .





	1. Still Not Quite Normal

January 18th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

3:07 P.M.

_Ahhh. . .so this is what peace feels like._

Alice smiled over the top of her book at the front foyer of the Houndsditch Home. Before her, Abigail, Elsie, and Harriet played quietly with the dollhouse, for once not arguing over who was going to be the Mummy and who had to be the Baby. Nearby, Reggie put the toy soldiers through their paces before the fireplace, marching them up and down the old bricks. The rest of the rabble was upstairs, being instructed in the finer points of Draughts by June. If there were any arguments up there, it appeared her coworker had them well-covered. _I didn't expect them to be so well-behaved once Christmas was over and done with,_ she admitted to herself, as Elsie rocked Baby in her crib and Abigail had Mummy put supper in the tiny oven, all to the tune of Reggie's "Hup! Two, three, four. . . ." _Maybe they're still all tuckered out from the excitement of getting some new toys for a change, as well as the usual clothes and shoes._

_"Or purrhaps they've simply become sneakier about their misbehaving."_

Alice glanced to the side as Cheshire appeared in a flash of sparkly light. He hopped up and settled himself across her lap. _"Familiarity breeds craftiness as well as contempt,"_ he continued, wiggling an ear.

 _Fair enough, but no one would ever accuse this lot of being the most subtle of children,_ Alice reminded him, scratching his head before turning back to her book. _And besides, we have more than enough eyes for all of them for a change. Not to mention one less child._ She snorted. _Would_ you _have guessed the underwear-stealer would be the first to be adopted under the new regime?_

 _"Truly a riddle for the ages,"_ Cheshire replied, kneading her skirt. _"Though I suppose there is something to be said for the classics. Mr. and Mrs. Twinnings may have simply been amused by the prospect of being the relations of a thief called Oliver."_

_Wasn't the happy ending of that serial Oliver getting out of poverty and thieving and – ah. Right._

Cheshire chuckled. _"Never underestimate what lengths people will go to in order to ape what they admire."_

 _How can I – I've met Victor's mother,_ Alice retorted, rolling her eyes. _Though admittedly I can't see her adopting an orphan even if she thought it would make her look good. Considering the job she did on Victor, that's all for the best._

 _"Indeed."_ Cheshire's tail flicked against her leg. _"How_ is _your chosen life partner?"_

Oh dear. That was a question. Alice bit her lip, one hand finding its way to the silver omega resting around her neck. _Well –_

"All right, where did you lot put it this time?"

_Currently, as annoyed as a wet hen._

She set down her book as Victor appeared in the doorway, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Elsie and Abigail giggled, completely unaffected by the Swell That Walks Whitechapel's glare. "Put what?" Abigail sing-songed, all innocence.

"You know darn well what," Victor said, folding his arms. "It's the third time this week you've snuck it out of our room!"

"Which is excessive even for the simplest prank," Alice agreed. "The least you could do is vary what you take."

"We didn't do nothing," Elsie declared, straightening her cap.

"Ah – grammar," Alice said, holding up a finger. "Two negatives in a row mean you _did_ do something."

"You can't prove noth – anything," Abigail corrected herself. "And you can't do like the White King and Queen and put us in jail before we did wrong."

"No, but I can at least try to make things fair." Alice stood up, waving Cheshire away – he jumped to the floor and vanished. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," she continued, directing her own frown at the children. "The easy way is to just return his sketchbook, and we'll say no more about it."

"And the hard way?" Elsie asked, smirking as she put her head to one side.

"I give him that dollhouse."

The smirk vanished. "That's not fair!" Elsie protested, scrambling to her feet and standing protectively in front of the miniature home.

"Oh, isn't it?" Alice stepped forward, making Elsie shrink back. "Something you love for something he loves? Seems quite balanced to me."

"Why don't you give him _your_ sketchbook?" Abigail said, fists on her hips.

"Because I'm not the one who took his." Alice shook her head. "If you're going to keep being naughty, you have to take the consequences. All you have to do to keep your toy is return what you stole."

"Would you really take their dollhouse?" Reggie asked Victor, holding a soldier on his lap.

Victor's response was to take two long strides and grab the house's roof. Abigail and Elsie promptly threw themselves on it. "If holding this hostage is the only way I'll ever be able to draw anything again. . . ."

"It's not yours!" Elsie squawked.

"You can't do anything with it!" Abigail cried.

"Oh, stop being babies!" Harriet snapped. She reached under the dollhouse floor and extracted a slim book bound in gray-speckled leather. "Here, Victor. Please let it go?"

"No!"

"Hey!"

Victor's hand darted out – but Abigail was faster, snatching the sketchbook from Harriet and running for the hall. Victor promptly released the house and took off in pursuit. "Get her! Get her!" Reggie cheered, bouncing on his bottom and upsetting his troops.

"Can't catch me!" Abigail taunted as they disappeared around the corner. "Can't catch – ah!"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Yes, the man whose _legs_ are taller than you are isn't going to catch you," she commented as she followed them into the hall. "You could have at least made it to the washroom if you hadn't bothered yelling back at him."

Abigail glared at her upside-down from under Victor's arm. "Grown-ups are supposed to be slower! It's not fair! And I need this!" she added, clutching the sketchbook to her chest. "If you get it back before dinner, I owe Reggie a penny!"

"Well, I'm afraid that's your loss," Victor told her, peeling the book from her fingers. He turned her right-side up and set her down on the floor. "I know you all think this is hilarious, but you're giving me conniptions!"

"We always give it back," Abigail whined. "Not like we'd put it in the bin."

A shadow flickered across Victor's face, fast enough that one could doubt it was ever there. Then he shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder. "Even still. . .what would happen if you forgot where you hid it one day? We'd have to tear the whole house apart!"

"We wouldn't forget," Abigail muttered, scuffing the floor with a shoe.

"Let's not take the chance, all right?" Victor sighed, rubbing small circles into his forehead. "Please – for the sake of my sanity, leave my sketchbook alone."

Abigail stuck out her lower lip in thought, twisting a braid around her finger. "How about we just hide your inkwells?"

"How about I start hiding your crayons?" Alice retorted, folding her arms. "There are better ways to amuse yourselves than driving poor Victor around the bend." She waved a hand. "Off with you – apologize to Harriet for dragging her into this. And make sure to give Reggie his penny."

Grumbling, Abigail trudged back to the foyer. Victor sighed again as he stood up straight. "Brats."

"Is now an appropriate moment to say I told you so?" Alice asked, smirking. She touched his arm. "If it makes you feel better, I'm sure she meant it when she said they wouldn't toss it. They're not that cruel – and besides, they like your drawings."

"I know," Victor murmured. "It's just. . . ." He flipped through the book, various sketches fluttering past before settling on a blank page. "I'm still replacing all the ones I lost when – when I – when Bumby. . . ."

There was the shadow again, haunting his face as the rest of the sentence hung unspoken in the air. Alice squeezed his forearm. "If you told them that, they'd probably never touch it again," she pointed out quietly.

"I – I don't like to talk about it with them," Victor replied, staring at the empty sheet.

"You don't like to talk about it with anyone."

Victor looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Can you blame me?"

"Of course not. But if you're trying to spare their innocence. . .they were _there_ , Victor," Alice reminded him, rubbing his sleeve. "They already know what he did. I'm certainly not saying you have to give them details, but acknowledging when one of them does something that reminds you of when you were–"

"I just want to leave it in the past," Victor cut in, snapping the sketchbook shut. "They suffered enough under him too. Why bring up horrible memories for all of us?"

Alice frowned at him. "Victor, I don't think telling them that hiding your sketchbook makes you feel like you did when Bumby forced you to tear down your artwork will give them any more nightmares than they already have."

"Why take the risk?" Victor tucked the sketchbook under his arm, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. "I shouldn't – it's not that big a deal, really. As you said, I know they wouldn't actually do anything. It always comes back to me. I – I shouldn't make such a fuss."

"It's _your_ sketchbook, and _your_ sketches. You're allowed a fuss. Fuss is the only way they learn."

"Yes, but. . . ." Victor bit his lip, then shook his head. "It's fine. I've got it back now. And if they start stealing my inkwells, that's a compromise I can live with. We don't have to make this into a big production."

"Victor–"

His gaze met hers, pleading. "We don't. It's fine. I'm fine."

Alice didn't believe that for a second – but her determination to keep arguing faltered in the face of those big soft puppy-dog eyes. _Damn it, Victor – Hightopp and Tarrant should borrow you for their patrols. Forget the threat of the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel – any criminal would repent if you just looked at them like that and whimpered a bit._ "All right," she said, caving. "It's your sketchbook."

Victor smiled, then looked toward the window. "I'm not much in the mood for drawing anymore – do you fancy a walk? The sun's out, and I think they've finally cleared all the snow from the sidewalks."

"That would be nice," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "I've been feeling the lack of fresh air over the past couple of days."

"Me too. Let me just put this away," Victor said, turning toward their door. "And hope it's not immediately stolen again by bitter young girls."

"Try sticking it atop our wardrobe," Alice suggested. "They can't climb it like the bookcase and I don't think they'd be able to reach even if they got a chair."

Victor grinned meanly. "Good idea."

"Alice? Could I speak to you for a moment?"

Alice and Victor turned to see Dr. Wilson at the other end of the hallway, watching them with what appeared to be concern. "Er – yes, of course," Alice said, frowning slightly. "Do you mind, Victor?"

"No, it's fine," Victor assured her. "I'll meet you by the front door." He leaned forward slightly, lips just starting to purse –

And then – stopped. The shadow flickered over his face again, darker and deeper than ever. Then he drew back, offering up a smile and a squeeze of her hand. "See you in a moment."

And then he was gone, vanished inside their room before she could say a single word in response. Alice looked from the door to her hand and back, then sighed and made her way over to Dr. Wilson. "What is it? I thought you were reviewing adoption applications in your study."

Dr. Wilson beckoned her around the corner. "I was, but I heard a slight commotion down here and came to investigate," he explained. "And I happened to overhear part of your conversation." He straightened his glasses, shaking his head. "He's doing it to you too, I see."

"What?"

"Cutting off any discussion of his time as Thirteen with 'I'm fine now, there's no need to make a fuss.' I was hoping it was a reaction unique to me as his psychiatrist."

"Ah. No, I'm afraid not," Alice said, running her fingers through her hair. "It's not like I don't understand his reluctance. What happened to him was horrible and I wouldn't be keen on reliving it either, even verbally. But the way he shuts even the slightest mention of it down. . . ." She bit her lip. "He's hiding something from us."

_"Even those couples who are practically one flesh have secrets. The left hand is not obliged to know what the right is doing."_

Alice looked at her feet to see Cheshire winding around her ankles. "Perhaps, but everything runs a lot smoother when it does. Cheshire," she added for Dr. Wilson's edification.

"I'd guessed," Dr. Wilson replied. "This does seem like the kind of discussion where he'd pop up."

Alice smiled. "You are very tolerant of my hallucinations trying to carry on a conversation with me at the same time you are."

"I value that you're able to tell that they _are_ hallucinations, even if you still see them. Perhaps you're not fully cured, but you are functional. I sometimes think my colleagues don't understand just how important that is." He paused, then added, "You're sure you don't want to try the new formula I came up with, though? It could be of help."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not touching anything that has both strychnine _and_ opium in it," Alice said, holding up a hand. "I'd rather see trees bursting through buildings than run the risk of becoming an addict. Or dead. Neither of which is guaranteed to cure said trees through buildings."

Dr. Wilson frowned thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "That – is an interesting point. One would think cessation of life would automatically 'cure' mental illness, but given what Victor has told us both of the Land of the Dead. . .are there asylums Downstairs as well? Dedicated to helping those that breathing doctors failed?"

"Perhaps," Alice shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised, anyway. You should investigate when you die. Which I hope isn't for a while yet," she added hastily.

Dr. Wilson chuckled. "No worries – I think I have a few good years left in me." His expression grew concerned again. "Victor hasn't shown any signs of – wanting to return Below, has he? I didn't think it was a danger, but you being closer. . . ."

Alice shook her head. "No. He's not quite himself, but I wouldn't say he's longing for Downstairs. Any more than the usual, 'I wish I could see how everyone is doing, say hello.'" She twisted her hands together. "Which is a sentiment I fully understand."

"Quite," Dr. Wilson murmured, gazing at her sympathetically. "The pain never fully goes away, does it?"

"No – in fact, it's actually gotten a bit _worse_ now that I know for sure the afterlife exists," Alice confessed. "Before, even with Bumby's nonsense poisoning my mind, I was finally coming to grips with the fact that they were gone forever. Now – well, they're _not_. They've just moved on to some other realm right below our feet. And while it's comforting to know that they haven't just ceased to exist, the idea that I _could_ see them again, but I don't know _how_. . . ."

 _"Impossible goals are easy to achieve,"_ Cheshire put in, plonking himself down by her shoe. _"Improbable ones take work."_

"Shush, Cat – you know darn well I'd be down there in a heartbeat if I knew a way Below that didn't involve finding a corpse to propose to," she scolded him.

Dr. Wilson regarded her, one hand on his chin. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Tricky question – I won't really know until you ask it."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Is Wonderland more prominent whenever you talk about your family or the fire?"

Alice was about to reply "No more than it usually is" – but then she took a moment and looked around. Grass carpeted the floor beneath her feet, bending in a breeze she couldn't feel, and the wallpaper around them was suddenly a lot brighter than usual, vines creeping out of the patterns and twisting their way up to the ceiling – which now had a faint blue sheen to it, as if it was going to dissolve away into a summer's sky at any moment. And, of course, there was still Cheshire, washing a paw like all of this was completely normal. Which, to him, it probably was. "It seems to be," she admitted, turning back to Dr. Wilson. "Which, honestly, should be no surprise – every time I thought about them before, it seems I was yanked back to battle some symbolic monstrosity menacing my very mind and will. Things are pretty peaceful now, though. You certainly haven't become a Menacing Ruin or a Snark."

"Perish the thought," Dr Wilson said with a tiny smile. "All right – you've said before that, if you concentrate, you can force the visions under your control. Which is good, but – you can't turn them off entirely, right? No matter what you do, they keep coming back?

"Essentially," Alice nodded. "Londerland's faded somewhat since I first walked out of Moorgate station, and I can generally dismiss anything that's bothering or upsetting me now. But – it's kind of like they're on a switch in my mind, and it keeps flipping itself to 'on,' no matter how many times I push it down to 'off.'"

"Interesting." Dr. Wilson nodded seriously. "I wonder if that's because you still haven't gotten full closure on the fire."

"I – what?" Alice blinked, then glanced at Cheshire. He simply grinned back at her, as always. "But – I figured out who did it. I saw him get what he deserved in the station. I paid for all my past sins, in Wonderland and reality. I finally accepted that I wasn't responsible and it was simple cruel chance that allowed me to survive."

"But you never did say a proper goodbye to your family, did you?"

Dr. Wilson had gotten entirely too good at getting to the heart of the matter. "I – well – it was too painful to go to Oxford, right after Rutledge," Alice confessed, twisting the toe of her shoe into the grassy boards. "I'd only just gotten myself anywhere near back to normal. . .everything was so raw still. . .and then Bumby was on me to forget the past, forget my family, let the dead lie. . .and after his death there was so much to do. . . ." She squeezed her hands together. "Are you suggesting a trip to the family vault, then?"

"It might be a good idea – if only as a stopgap measure until you _can_ find a way Downstairs," Dr. Wilson nodded. "Your illness, painful and debilitating as it is, is largely traumatic in origin. The more you deal with that trauma, the better you become. You've conquered your guilt, and seen the end of the person who wronged you. But I don't think your internal switch will be content to stay 'off' until you actually speak to your family. Hear from them that you aren't to blame and need to move on."

Alice nodded slowly, then chuckled. "You must be the only psychiatrist on earth whose advice to me consists of 'visit the Underworld.'"

"As far as I know, I'm the only psychiatrist on earth who _knows_ there's an Underworld to visit. And if it can be used as a therapeutic tool. . . ." He shrugged, before giving her a warm, fatherly look. "You've come so far already – I'd like to see you truly well."

"At this point, I don't think Wonderland's ever going to _fully_ go away," Alice admitted. "But it would be nice to stay more in reality much of the time. And to – to be absolutely sure they don't blame me." She rubbed her arm, trying to ignore a ghostly burbling at the back of her head. "I mean, they must know that Bumby set the actual blaze, but I still wonder about that log. . . and you know me. That bloody Jabberwock's shadow doesn't like to fade."

"I understand," Dr. Wilson assured her. "All of us crave outside confirmation, no matter how sure we are inside that what we know is right. I think it's just human nature." He put his hand briefly on her shoulder. "I hope you do find your way back to them."

"So do I," Alice murmured.

 _"Fascinating as this line of inquiry is, I believe you've diagnosed the wrong patient,"_ Cheshire commented, butting his head against Alice's leg. _"When I told you to take his name in the Vale of Doom, I didn't mean it quite that literally."_

"Right – we were talking about Victor," Alice said, giving the Cat's ears a quick scratch. "Do you have any theories on _his_ behavior, Dr. Wilson?"

"The first thing that springs to mind is simple frustration over the fact that I'm still insisting on sessions," Dr. Wilson said. "He was probably hoping I'd pronounce him cured by now."

"Maybe," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "He _was_ pretty eager to declare all his troubles over and done with after he took down the wall. But I think there's more to it than that." She held up her hand, examining it. "I mean – weren't _you_ expecting him to kiss me just then?"

"I was," Dr. Wilson confirmed. "Goodness me, you two were practically inseparable right through Christmas."

"Making up for lost time," Alice said with a smirk, tangling her fingers in the silver chain around her throat. She bit the inside of her cheek. "But then, right around New Year's, he got just a bit – standoffish. He hasn't pulled completely away – we still talk, and hug, and – well, you haven't had to conjure up another bed for us. But that wasn't the first time he's abruptly balked at the opportunity to, if I may use the vernacular, sling a slobber." She sighed, pulling the omega up to eye level, remembering the thrill she'd gotten when she'd opened the box, and the warmth of Victor's fingers as he'd fastened it around her neck – followed immediately by the warmth of his lips against hers. "We were so happy right through the holidays. I don't know what changed."

Dr. Wilson frowned. "That _is_ rather strange. Especially since all of us were convinced that – ah."

Alice arched an eyebrow, letting the necklace drop. "'Ah' what?"

Dr. Wilson chuckled, his beard tinging pink from his cheeks. "Perhaps the fault is less with him and more with us. June hinting she knows how to sew as well as cook, your nanny telling you where you can pick up white fabric cheap, my own comments about you being rather like a married couple already. . . ."

"Aaahh." Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. "I _do_ keep telling you all that you're rushing us to the altar."

"To be fair, Alice, if anyone outside Houndsditch finds out about your sleeping arrangements, I'll be forced to bring you two to a registrar," Dr. Wilson pointed out. "We're bending the rules of propriety to the point of breaking by allowing you to share a room, much less a bed."

"I know, I know – and we're very grateful," Alice assured him. "But that 'ah' proves you know Victor's history with weddings as well as I do. A rehearsal with a stranger that ended with him briefly setting his future mother-in-law on fire and an accidental recitation to a marriage-mad corpse who promptly kidnapped him to the Underworld don't make for the best memories. And neither does starting to fall in love with both girls, only to end up with neither."

"Agreed," Dr. Wilson said. "I've noticed that whenever the subject crops up in our sessions, his hand starts creeping toward his tie. He insists he wants to marry you, and I believe him, but I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks a cool-down in visible affection might earn him a delay."

"Neither would I," Alice replied. "It's not like _I_ enjoy all these 'hints' about how we need to find ourselves a minister or a judge or what-have-you right away. I want to marry him too, but. . . ." She looked down at Cheshire, who rubbed against her leg. "It is a rather big change. I want to be settled before I commit. Which ties into what you said before, doesn't it? Seeing my family, getting closure on the fire. . .and seeing if they approve of him in the bargain. Not that I think they _wouldn't_ , but again, confirmation would be nice."

"Quite fair enough," Dr. Wilson said. "I'll talk to June about being a little less enthusiastic about your eventual nuptials. I'm afraid you're on your own with your nanny."

"Oh, nothing will get Nanny to shut up about it," Alice said, waving a hand. "She's too smug she saw it before I did. I'm used to her." She gave him a little smile. "I promise you, we won't delay forever. If only because, on a personal level, the idea of a summer wedding appeals to me."

"Good." Dr. Wilson gave her an encouraging smile. "And for what it's worth, I wouldn't worry too much about Victor's current mood. I've had patients regress temporarily in their therapy before – it's always a passing phase." He winked. "At least Victor isn't hurling teapots at anyone."

"Let's see what happens the next time Abigail steals his sketchbook before we say that," Alice replied, shaking her head. "But I hope you're right. I spent too long shutting people out and wallowing in my own pain. I don't want him making the same mistakes."

"I'll keep at him," Dr. Wilson promised. "In the meantime, we've probably kept him waiting long enough for your walk."

"Probably," Alice agreed, glancing over her shoulder. "We'll be back in time for tea."

"Good. Have a good stroll."

"Thank you." With a final nod, Alice turned away and headed back to the foyer. _Do you think he's right, Cat?_ she added in the comfortable confines of her own skull. _That this is all just a phase?_

 _"I don't claim to be an expert on the human mind,"_ Cheshire replied, loping along beside her. _"But I would keep an ear open for train whistles. Victor may not have fully embraced the Dollmaker's rhetoric, but being unwilling to face past or future puts one in a very precarious position indeed."_ His body faded from her sight, taking the grass with it. _"Sloth is the easiest of the sins, Alice. You know that from ten years' practice. If necessary, balance your beau – or give him a push."_

Alice was pretty sure Cheshire's intention _hadn't_ been to conjure up the image of her beloved toppling head over feet into some terrible black abyss, but that's what her mind supplied her with anyway. She shook it off with a frown. _Noted._

The real Victor was standing by the front door as promised, though his expression suggested he was starting to wonder why. He brightened once he saw her. "That was a long chat. . .ready to go?"

"Yes – sorry, he had a theory about why I'm still seeing Wonderland everywhere," Alice apologized, retrieving her coat from its hook. "I'll tell you about it on our walk. . .if June comes down, we've just gone around the block for some air, and we'll be back shortly," she added to the children. "Be good."

Abigail glowered at them as Reggie sniggered. "I hope you fall in a snowbank."

"I probably will," Victor said unconcernedly, opening the door for Alice. "Enjoy the dollhouse."


	2. A Whitechapel Wander Gone Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for a lot of less-than-pleasant Victorian euphemisms about sex, and somebody getting choked near the end.

January 18th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

3:20 P.M.

The air was crisp as they stepped out, sharp with the smell of old snow. Alice took a deep, grateful breath – and then promptly regretted it, as she got a lungful of all the various things that ended up in old snow. "You'd think after over a year here I'd know better," she muttered, coughing into her sleeve.

Victor patted her on the back. "At least it's not summer smog." He grimaced at the grayish gritty slush that had piled up near the front gate. "Though I don't think I'll be following Abigail's instructions if I can help it. That looks more like an ash heap than snow."

Alice shook her head as she cleared her throat. "Much too wet. Take it from an expert."

Victor winced. "Oh – sorry. T-that was thoughtless."

"Only a little," Alice assured him, patting his arm. "And to be fair, it probably _is_ largely ash after falling through Whitechapel's share of the sky." She smirked. "But it's really the _yellow_ snow you have to watch out for."

Victor snickered. "Or the brown snow," he agreed, opening the gate for her. "When you get down to it, London snow is barely snow at all."

"It's cold and wet," Alice said, prodding a half-melted drift with her foot. "I suppose that's the only real requirement. Give me Tundraful's ice cliffs any day, though."

"I know I'd prefer it if this smoky air was the result of the moon having a cigarette," Victor agreed, putting his arm around her. "Speaking of which, what did Dr. Wilson have to say about Wonderland? I thought we'd all just sort of agreed it was all right if you kept seeing bits of it everywhere so long as you weren't wandering around raving."

"Yes, but the ideal would still be me seeing it only when I _want_ to see it, and not whenever my brain gets bored of the current scenery," Alice told him, frowning at a domino poking out of a snowbank and putting the truth to her words. "He thinks it's because I'm not quite over the fire."

Victor tilted his head. "After all you've been through? After – Bumby?"

"That's what I said, but he pointed out that I never did say a proper goodbye to my family. And right when I was getting over that, you came along telling everyone about the Land of the Dead, and. . . ." She sighed. "He said, and I think he's right, that I'm not going to be able to fully control Wonderland until – until I know everything is right between me and my parents and sister. Until I know for sure that they're happy Downstairs. . .and don't think any less of me for what happened."

Victor squeezed her shoulders. "They don't. I'm sure of that."

Alice squinched her lips to one side. "Well, I think Lizzie would be justified in being a _bit_ miffed I didn't recognize her murderer right away."

"Even if she was, she'd forgive you," Victor insisted. "You were just a child, Alice. And after a decade in bedlam. . .we should all be grateful you remember as much as you do." He sighed. "I'd get you down there if I could."

"I know you would," Alice assured him. "And trust me, I am not blaming you for your lack of progress in figuring out magic. I don't know where to begin either. Do we just scare some ravens away from their nest and start breaking eggs?"

"I doubt it's that easy – Elder Gutknecht called it a Ukrainian _haunting_ spell," Victor grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Who knows if it works in reverse." He looked up at the gray sky. "You know, it's funny. When I was small, I loved to pretend I was a wizard in training. I collected sticks from the garden as wands, and made pointy paper hats with stars on them, and made up little verses that were supposed to keep Gordon Tannen and his cronies away from me. None of them ever worked, but. . .oh, I wanted _so_ much for magic to be real. And then, finally, I find out it _is –_ only I'm currently married to a corpse at the time and thus a little too distracted to be excited. And then, after Emily moved on, Victoria disappeared, and Pastor Galswells called me damned, and my parents threw psychiatrist after psychiatrist at me until sending me here. . .I never got a chance to even properly think about what I'd seen Elder Gutknecht do, much less try any of it myself. Not that I think lurking in the local bookshop trying to find spellbooks would have helped my situation at all back then." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "And now. . .on the one hand, I'm glad London is more mystical than Burtonsville and thus somewhat less likely to condemn me to Hell. On the other, every time I see a medium advertising their services. . . ." He closed a fist. "Why is them supposedly _talking_ to the dead all right, but me saying I've _seen_ what comes after up close and personal not?"

"It's probably just a bit too much for most people," Alice said, wrapping her arm around his waist. "There's a point where hope runs up against fear, and you talking about there definitely being an afterlife probably worries people who were counting on _not_ having to pay for their sins once they died. Not to mention the Land of the Dead is populated by actively rotting walking corpses, which you have to admit is a _bit_ macabre."

Victor blushed. "Point. I remember better how friendly they were over how scary they looked." He chewed his lower lip. "Do – do you think it's worth visiting The Mystic Melvin, or Madame Tracy, or any of the others? I mean, I'm almost certain they're all con artists looking for a quick pound, but – maybe. . . ."

Alice shrugged. "I have a hard time believing anyone advertising in Whitechapel would be on the up-and-up. I'd like us to find our way Below from a more reputable source." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Dr. Wilson suggested something that might help in the meantime."

"What's that?"

"A trip to Oxford. To visit the Liddell family vault."

Victor's steps slowed. "Do you want to?"

"I – I'm not sure," Alice confessed, frowning. "I couldn't work up the courage after leaving Rutledge, even with the Queen of Hearts reduced to a bloody pulp. Whenever I imagined stepping inside, seeing their names etched on the little plates below each coffin. . .it made my stomach turn. And of course there was no chance of me going during Bumby's reign. . . ." She reached up to fiddle with her necklace chain again. "Now. . .knowing their souls are Downstairs and – hopefully – in good spirits, going there and seeing them as nothing more than cold, unfeeling bone. . .it's still not a pleasant thought."

Victor nodded. "I understand. I don't like thinking about what Emily's corpse must _actually_ look like under that old oak tree. I'd rather remember her as I knew her Below." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "What about – if we just went to Oxford? Avoided the vault and instead wandered around the city? I would like to see where you grew up."

"That would be rather hard, given the whole source of my trauma is my house going up in flames," Alice joked. "But I am curious about how things have changed over the past twelve years." She turned her gaze toward her feet. "It would be nice to see the university again. Take a stroll along the banks of the Isis. Remember more of the good times."

"Just say the word, Alice," Victor said, squeezing her lightly. "I'll hail a cab and have a note sent back to Dr. Wilson."

Alice giggled. "We'd be rather lacking in luggage, don't you think?"

"Spoken as if I couldn't buy you an entire new wardrobe if you'd let me."

Alice snuggled his shoulder. "I'm content with what I have for now. Besides, I can't let you just spoil me rotten. Think of the smell."

Victor chuckled. "Well, the offer still stands, if you'd ever like to take advantage." More seriously, he added, "And you know, if we're lucky, perhaps we'll run into someone there who'll be able to figure out how to get us Below. Oxford's supposed to be a great center of learning – surely that includes a few academics interested in the occult."

"I never encountered any among Papa's undergraduates. . .then again, I barely knew said undergraduates except as 'the boys who kept annoying Lizzie.' But I'm sure you're right – there must be _someone_ out there who can help us. And we'll find them eventually." Alice favored Victor with a smile. "All this for someone who thought you were mental the first few months she knew you. You really are too good to me."

Victor's returning smile was bright – but was that a flicker of guilt in his eyes? Maybe she was imagining things. As per usual. "I could never be good enough to you."

Alice poked him. "Your standards for yourself are entirely too high."

Victor shrugged. "Blame Mother."

"Gladly. I like blaming your mother for things." She put her head back against his shoulder. "I am so relieved she's back in Burtonsville now."

"Me too," Victor said with feeling. "I appreciate that she and Father actually wanted to help with my memory problem, but if I'd heard one more comment about how 'unfortunate' it was that you'd spent ten years in bedlam instead of building up all the 'connections' your father had. . . ."

"Better than her saying I would never be good enough for you and trying to marry you sight-unseen to some other noble girl," Alice replied, the lampposts twisting themselves into spiky heart shapes as she recalled Nell's praise of Adelaide Kingsleigh. "Though sometimes I wonder by how much." She shook her head. "The funny thing is, I'm certain my parents wouldn't have gotten along with her at all. Papa never gave any preference to social class or family fortune in his teaching – he weathered quite a few nobles shouting at him over failing their sons. And he refused to do more than the absolute minimum of hobnobbing to keep the donations coming into Christ Church. And Mama was an early crusader for equal rights and helping the poor – anyone who disdained charity got an earful from her. They were both very firm believers that it wasn't a person's birth or wealth which made them – it was their actions."

"Whereas Mother is convinced that our being wealthy means she should be able to boss around anyone she likes and dash the consequences," Victor sighed. "No, I don't think your parents would have been able to stand her for long. Father – well, perhaps they would have appreciated that he's a self-made man, and treats his employees well, but the moment your mother discovered his views on helping the poor consist of 'if I can make it, anyone can. . . .'"

"Oh, is running a fish cannery that easy?"

"Not from what I've seen. And the Van Dorts were never truly impoverished in the first place. Father's canned fish just bumped us from lower to upper middle class. Mother I believe grew up poor, but – well." He shrugged a shoulder. "You've met her."

"I have," Alice nodded, grimacing. "Sometimes I think it must be exhausting being such an enthusiastic social climber."

"Oh, she thrives on it," Victor said, rolling his eyes to the sky. "And Father – he may not have as much drive as her, but he approves all her ambitions." He chuckled suddenly. "You know, I've heard people accuse her of riding his coattails to success, but I think it's more a case of him hanging onto the back of her dress as she claws her way to the top."

The image of William Van Dort clinging to his wife's gown as she scaled a giant ladder, using her ubiquitous fur stole as a rope, made Alice snort. "That sounds about right. And then there's you, who practically gives away money and who can name roughly three noble couples, including your ex-fiancee's parents. How on earth did you manage to grow up ignoring the peerage?"

"Six governesses and not being invited to any important parties until I was sixteen," Victor told her with a smile. "All those names Mother threw around at tea were little more than noise to me. She tried to at least drill me on the hierarchy, but I still get confused. I know the royal family is at the top, of course, and then earls come just below them. . . ."

"No, earls are in the middle," Alice corrected him. "It goes kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, marquesses and marchionesses, earls and countesses, viscounts and viscountesses, and barons and baronesses. With baronets at the very bottom – I forget if they have a special name for the ladies."

Victor stared. "What – I – was Mother giving you lessons when I wasn't looking?"

"No – I looked them all up when I was six, curious about why we had kings, queens, and knaves in cards, instead of princes," Alice explained with a little grin. "The list just stuck with me. The Queen of Hearts is actually also the Marchioness of Mock Turtles – Rabbit told me once. I've never heard her use that particular title, though."

"The Mock Turtle must be relieved – he seems to have enough trouble with the Duchess," Victor commented. "So, er, what is a knave then?"

"A male servant – in this case of the royal family. I don't think I found a matching name for a female one. Which is probably just as well, given people tend to throw 'knave' at anyone they don't like these days."

"Mmm." Victor glanced at her. "I know you restored the King of Hearts – is the Knave back then, too? Or any of the others?"

Alice shook her head. "The only other cards left are the Card Guards and that bloody Executioner. I think Queensland is just too much of a wreck these days to support the other three monarchs and their entourages. And while the Queen of Hearts was always the worst, the way Diamonds, Clubs, and Spades squabbled during croquet. . .I don't think I could deal with all of them at once these days. Better to let the Queen of Hearts have her little patch with her husband, and then the only monarchs the rest of Wonderland has to deal with are the White and Red Kings and Queens, who are generally a _bit_ more even-tempered."

"So you've said." Victor sighed deeply. "There's another reason for us to find out how magic works sooner rather than later. Every time you tell me something about Wonderland – even something scary – the more I want to see it with my own eyes."

"I wish I could show you up close and in person," Alice agreed. "I know you'd love the Vale of Tears, and Tundraful, and Cardbridge. . . ." She patted his arm. "We'll figure it out."

Oh, there was that soft, loving look that always reduced her heart to a puddle of warm mush. Victor favored her with it for a good few seconds. . .and then, for some reason, it faded away, yielding to a more nervous gaze. "Um – you d-do think Wonderland will be o-okay with me visiting, right?"

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Given most of the inhabitants were referring to you as 'my' Victor even before I figured it out myself, I would say so."

"Yes, but. . . ." Victor rubbed the back of his head before looking at his feet. "I'm still an – outsider. And after – after Bumby. . . ."

Oh dear. Alice was _not_ going to let that rat bastard ruin another one of their conversations. She tugged him to a stop beside a lamppost, taking his chin and raising his face toward hers. "It's not the same thing at all," she informed him firmly. "You know that."

Victor didn't look quite convinced. "I just – I worry that–"

"You don't need to worry about anything," Alice insisted. "Wonderland, from the Origami Ants to the Chess People, will adore you. Because _I_ adore you. You belong there just as much as any of them." And then, just to make sure he got the message, she hooked her arm around his neck and pressed her lips against his.

For one terrible split-second, he stiffened, and she thought he was going to pull away. Then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around her as he began to respond with his old enthusiasm. Alice's insides went all soft and buttery. Oh, she'd _missed_ this – the heat of his breath ghosting across her face, mingling with hers. . .the tender softness of his lips and cheeks, and his fingers stroking along her back. . .the rich heady smell of his hair oil, flowing up her nose. They just fit so perfectly together, even with the height difference. . .how had she _stood_ not having his mouth against hers for an entire fortnight? Clearly she had to make up for lost time. . .she pulled him a bit closer, her tongue just grazing his lower lip –

And just like that, the kiss was over, Victor pulling away with a heavy blush. "We, ah, a-are in public," he reminded her in a whisper.

Alice glanced around. Sure enough, a couple of matrons stood nearby, aiming their best disapproving frowns at the couple. "Sod off," Alice said, shooting her own right back.

The matrons gasped, but did as asked, clucking to each other all the way. "You never seemed to care what others might think back during Christmas-time," Alice continued, looking back up at Victor. "I could barely get you to _stop_ kissing me then."

"Er – well – it's d-different then, isn't it?" Victor replied, giving the knot of his tie a little tug. "With the mistletoe e-everywhere, and the general a-atmosphere. . .people were more accepting. I don't. . .w-we can't risk anyone g-getting us in trouble."

"Over a kiss?" Alice stepped back, hands on hips. "People know we're courting. Most of them don't give us a second glance." She jerked her head in the direction the matrons had gone. "Even they'll just gossip about us a couple of times with their friends and then forget all about it."

"I simply don't want people thinking I'm taking advantage of you," Victor mumbled into his shirt collar.

"Taking – _I_ kissed _you_!" Alice huffed. What was going on here? Why was he so intent on making what she'd considered a fun activity into a reason to fret?

_"Dr. Wilson provided a lovely hypothesis,"_ Hatter said from over her shoulder, pouring himself a cup of tea from his hat. _"Why not test it? Advance your understanding of the world!"_

_Dear me, I think you've actually managed to dole out some good advice for once._ "Victor – are you afraid that kissing me too much will _force_ us to the altar?"

The blush fled, leaving Victor whiter than the snow around them (which, all things considered, was actually not that much of a feat, but still). His hand locked around his tie like a drowning man grabbing a rope. "I – ah – er – I mean–"

Well, that seemed a point in Dr. Wilson's favor. Alice sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. "Victor – I understand, I do. I'm quite done with all those dropped hints from friends and relations that we need to get married already. And I know that we can't afford for anyone outside of Houndsditch to find out about our living arrangements. But first off–" She leaned in and dropped her voice. "There's little point in refusing to kiss me when you still share my bed at night."

Victor went pink again, turning away. "And second. . . ." She reached up, pulling his hand away from his tie. "I miss this. I miss _you_. Being less affectionate isn't stopping anyone from saying we ought to find a priest or registrar. It just – makes me sad."

Victor winced, pulling his chin back into his collar. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't. . .I just. . . ." He stopped, shook his head, then looked her dead in the face. "I love you, Alice. I want to marry you. The idea of a life without you. . .but I can't. N-not just yet. I have to – I need to make sure I can give you everything that's best." He bit his lip. "A _me_ that's best."

"That would be easier if you'd talk to Dr. Wilson more. He mentioned you were clamming up in sessions," she continued as Victor's eyebrows shot up.

Victor fidgeted. "It's. . .hard to talk about," he muttered.

"I know. . .and to be fair, I didn't ask him how he was going about questioning you. I know the man means well, but–" _"It's been years now, Alice – time to put away childish things!"_ "I know first-hand he can come out with some very silly and hurtful comments." She frowned. "He hasn't offered you that latest drink of his either, has he?"

"No," Victor assured her, waving a hand. "And if he did, I'd refuse it – I remember all too well your stories of his previous efforts."

"Mmmm – I suppose I should count myself lucky that whatever he gave me in Rutledge wasn't poisonous, just foul-tasting," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "Wouldn't let him try it again, though. And this is the one psychiatrist I can be said to trust, mind. Which says a lot about the others in his profession."

"It does," Victor nodded. "But no, he hasn't been particularly rude or anything. I simply. . .I want to take care of it in my own head. I want to be strong and – and handle things like you do."

"Wandering the streets in a psychotic daze, accusing people of being rabbits and dormice and carpenters?"

"You know what I mean. My problems are my problems, and – I just – I need a bit of space. A bit of time to – figure things out on my own."

Oh, he could be infuriating sometimes. "Then why didn't you just _say_ that, silly?" Alice replied, poking him in the chest. "Instead of worrying us all so? I'm sure Dr. Wilson would be willing to let you off for a little while if you said you thought it would help. And, as you so aptly pointed out, I'm well-versed in needing some time to work through a problem on my own. Not that I think you should ape my methods _too_ closely. . . ."

"I won't go wandering off into the fog," Victor said, smiling slightly as he raised a hand. "Or lie catatonic in my bed, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'd prefer the latter to the former, but yes, try to avoid either." She reached up to brush his cheek. "And if it makes you feel better, while I like you as you are, I'm more than willing to wait for that 'best' you. I fully understand needing to get your head in order first." Hoping to get a proper grin out of him, she added, "Besides, if you think I'm wearing a fancy white dress in _this_ weather, think again."

It did the trick. "I don't think this snow would be kind to it, no." He sighed, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I didn't mean to upset you. I wasn't thinking about. . . ." He paused, fiddling with his fingers. "I d-didn't get overbearing at Christmas? Too – _forward_?"

Alice took his tie and gently tugged him down, so their lips met. "Not at all," she said, breaking the kiss after a second. "You were just fine. If anyone read anything more into it, that's their issue." She wrapped her arms around his middle. "Dr. Wilson's promised to have a talk with June, and to watch his own remarks. And your parents are far away, the children really don't care that much, and Nanny – well, she's not _that_ bad, is she?"

Victor chuckled. "No, I guess not. And she's rather busy with getting the Mermaid back up and running, so she can't pester us too much about it anyway."

"True." Alice nuzzled his chin. "Don't let the world bully you into thinking you can't kiss your own girlfriend, Victor. You're the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel, and the Smasher of the Great Wall. You can handle a little societal disapproval."

Victor squeezed her back. "Thanks. I – I needed that."

"Only too glad to help." _What do you think, Cheshire?_ she added in her head. _Sufficient balancing?_

_"For now,"_ Cheshire replied, winding his way through their legs. He gave her a stern stare. _"But don't take your eyes off him just yet. He's still on the edge – and purrhaps not taking up enough space."_

And then he vanished, before Alice could even consider asking him what on earth that meant. She sighed quietly. _Bloody Wonderland and its riddles. . .well, at least he considered it acceptable enough for the moment. We'll see what happens once Victor's had a few days to get his thoughts together._

Right now, though – well, her front was warm enough, but her back was starting to get rather cold with all this standing around. And people were giving them dirty looks for blocking the sidewalk. Alice reluctantly stepped away, slipping her hand back into Victor's as they continued on. "The easiest way to get you out of your sessions for a bit would be that Oxford expedition we were discussing," she said, trying to move onto happier topics. "Dr. Wilson couldn't even object, as he was the one who suggested it."

"It _would_ be nice to just get out of London for a while," Victor nodded. "I know I haven't even spent a year here, but I'm thoroughly sick of it."

"So am I. We'll have to pick a date. Perhaps nearer the end of this month?"

"I'm fine with that. . .oh, but Alice–" Victor stopped again, frowning. "What are we going to do about a chaperone?"

"What? Oh drat, we are going to need one, aren't we? Whitechapel may not care about us walking out together, but Oxford probably will. . . ." Alice tapped her foot. "Well, we could always ask June. She's probably old enough to qualify, and I'm sure she'd be happy to go."

"Rather leaves Dr. Wilson in the lurch though, doesn't it?" Victor pursed his lips. "It's a shame Victoria and Christopher are back in Sandford – I wouldn't mind either of them."

"Neither would I, but we can't ask them to come back on such short notice." Alice frowned. "And I don't know anyone else except Dr. Wilson himself – which defeats the point of you getting that bit of time – Pris Witless – who I haven't seen since her last outburst at Houndsditch's door and good riddance – and Nanny." She smirked. "Which, well, she'd be a very _liberal_ chaperone–"

"Oi! Can Dort!"

Alice and Victor both froze. _Oh no. . .damn it, I was hoping that we were going to be spared ever hearing that voice again_ _,_ Alice thought, gritting her teeth. "Splatter," she hissed, grabbing Victor's hand and pulling him toward a nearby alley. "Come on, maybe if we go down a side street–"

"I'm talkin' to you, Can Dort!"

"It's too late!" Victor replied, tugging her back. "Besides, I _don't_ want to be caught with him down a dark alley again. Out here, there's less chance of him getting that cleaver out." He took a deep breath, then turned and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. Despite her nerves, Alice couldn't help feeling a touch of pride at how bold he looked. "You rarely just want to talk, Splatter. And Can Dort? Really? I haven't been called that since I was ten."

"Well, I certainly ain't calling you the Swell." Jack Splatter swaggered up to them, shoving his way through the crowd. One brave person shot him a look, only to scurry away when Splatter glared back at him. "Still walkin' around like you own the place, huh? On _my_ streets?"

"I gladly cede ownership to you," Victor said, crossing his arms. "Alice and I are just trying to get a little fresh air. I don't want to start anything."

Splatter leaned in, yellow teeth gleaming in a shark's smile. "Maybe I do."

Victor's jaw clenched, then relaxed. "I don't want to finish anything either."

"Look around you, Splatter – there's at least a dozen people watching," Alice added. "You start a brawl, and you'll be back down in the cells before you can blink."

Splatter glanced right and left at the curious masses watching the scene. "Maybe, but your boyfriend here would be right there with me," he pointed out. "And with so many hurt feelings, wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if he ended up having a little 'accident.'"

"I think you've forgotten I'm friends with two of the officers at Bow Street," Victor reminded him.

"Hightopp and Tarrant? Can't watch your back forever." Splatter moved in a little closer, nose practically touching Victor's. "You've been livin' on borrowed time, Can Dort. Ever since the docks. I'll get my due." He jerked his head toward Alice. "Whole reason you're with her, ain't it? Getting your share while you still can?"

Victor's face darkened. "My love for Alice has nothing to do with _your_ sordid business," he growled, dropping his arms.

"Sure it don't. We all want one thing outta our ladybirds, don't we?" He nudged Victor's side, play-friendly. "Like a girl who calls you Hatter when you're in Bedfordshire? She scream about mock turtles when you drive Nebuchadnezzar up Cock Alley?"

Victor's eye twitched. "I wouldn't know. I don't lower myself to the sort of things you do."

Splatter burst out laughing. "Sure you don't! This from Bumby's favorite mandrake!" He spread his arms wide, grinning at the crowd. "Ain't like we don't all know what you two were doin' up in his office! Gaying instrument right up the windward passage! Ain't just a corpse-lover, you lot – he's of Sodom too!"

Victor's face was going purple, and Alice swore she could hear his teeth grinding against each other. She snagged his arm. "He's _trying_ to get a rise out of you, Victor," she warned him. "Make it so you throw the first punch and he can claim self-defense. Come on, let's go before he finds a fresh way to make an idiot of himself."

"Only idiot 'round here is you, Liddell! Could have had a decent salary under me – and a better fuck besides!" Splatter winked at her. "Your old Nan never had any complaints, anyway."

"I'm _not_ Nanny," Alice said, her stomach turning. "And she threw you out the moment you started asking for more dosh, didn't she? You couldn't have been _that_ good."

"Better than the old indorser you've taken up with!" Splatter declared, slapping Victor on the shoulder. "Bumby's little lapdog, always waiting for a treat from Master! You may be sitting pretty back home, Mr. Canned Fish, but here, it's different! Don't pretend you're any better than us, you filthy _cocksucker_!"

It all happened in a mere blink. One moment, Victor was standing at her side, a rigid statue of fury – the next, he was on top of Splatter, fingers locked around the pimp's throat. The crowd gasped and pushed in closer. "GO ON!" Victor roared, veins pulsing in his neck. "GO ON! CALL ME A COCKSUCKER AGAIN, SPLATTER! I DARE YOU!"

Splatter, however, was in no condition to call anyone anything. He clawed desperately at Victor's hands as his face began to turn a rather sallow-looking blue. "Oooo – I think he's got him down for good this time!" one of the watchers cried.

"You show 'im, Swell!" a lady cheered.

"'Bout time someone put him in his place!"

"Harder! Harder! Choke him good!"

_Oh my God – he is, too,_ Alice realized as Jack's struggles weakened. _If he doesn't let go soon –_ She raced to Victor's side and yanked hard on his arm. "Victor! Victor, stop!"

Victor ignored her, his gaze locked on the dimming light in Splatter's eyes as his grip tightened all the more. _"Oh, let him finish the job,"_ the Queen of Hearts whispered from some dark corner of Alice's brain. _"Will anyone actually mourn the loss of another man who profits from women's misfortune?"_

_I doubt it, but I can't just let him bloody his hands like this! Not in front of a dozen witnesses, at least!_ "VICTOR! I think he's had enough!"

Victor's head jerked toward her, flames flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then they faltered and cooled as he blinked. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Alice? I. . . ." He blinked again, then looked down at his hands.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He released Splatter, throwing himself backwards to get away from the pimp. Splatter sucked in a loud, wheezing breath, flopping onto his side and coughing. The crowd moaned in disappointment. "Aw, what'd ya have to go and stop him for?"

"We weren't gonna tell no bobby!"

"I owe the bastard money! Come on, Swell, get back to work!"

Victor didn't respond, too busy gaping at the massive purple bruises forming on Splatter's neck. Splatter coughed again, then managed to force himself up on an elbow. He looked back at Victor as he rubbed his neck. The anger in his gaze was expected – the _terror_ mixed in with it, not so much. _Then again, Victor nearly sent him tumbling toward whatever the Elephant's Elbow is called Downstairs,_ Alice thought, looking between the two men. _Would be stranger if he_ wasn't _even a little scared. . .does this mean he's finally going to leave us alone?_

Victor seemed to be asking himself the same question as he stared back at Splatter – and, judging by his expression, he believed the answer to be a solid "no." Before the pimp could even choke out a word, he scrambled back to his feet, stumbling and weaving around the startled pedestrians before disappearing down the alley. "Victor!" Alice rounded on Splatter. "Have you finally gotten the hint, or do I have to show you what I learned about handling a knife in Wonderland?"

Splatter flapped a hand at her. "Toff. . .not. . .worth it," he gasped, voice croaky. "Just. . .just go."

That was good enough for her. "You'll regret it if I catch you at Houndsditch's gate with that bloody cleaver," she threatened, just for good measure, then shot after Victor, hoping he hadn't gotten too much of a head start. _And here I was hoping a walk would_ settle _our brains. . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) "Madame Tracy" is a quick reference to one of the characters from Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's excellent collaboration _Good Omens_.
> 
> B) The Queen of Hearts also being the Marchioness of Mock Turtles is a reference to the first written version of _Alice's Adventures In Wonderland_ (which didn't have the part with the Duchess), pulled from the notes in Martin Gardner's _Annotated Alice_.


	3. Magical Mystery Tour

January 18th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

3:53 P.M.

"Victor? Victor? Victor!"

_"Odd. I thought it was_ you _who made a habit of disappearing into the streets of London without a trace. Soon enough you'll be wearing each other's clothes."_

Alice shot a glare at the grin hovering by her side. "Either help me look or keep your mouth shut!" She peered around another tree that had sprouted up the side of a building, down an alley strewn with multicolored leaves. "At least he should be easy to pick out against _this_ scenery. Damn his long legs. . .Victor? Where have you gone?"

_"Look straight ahead – or askance. Whichever way you choose you must always look in the right direction."_

"The Tweedles's little 'funhouse' doesn't have a patch on the back streets of Whitechapel and you know it," Alice growled, stalking to the next turn in the maze of narrow alleys and rear entrances. The stone under her feet obligingly picked up a sickly green and yellow checkerboard tint. "Ugh, no, go back to the Vale of Tears, I _like_ that place – and if the only help you can offer is old recycled platitudes, then shove off, Cat."

_"Rather hard to shove myself off something. Unlike you, I have little practice at being two people. Besides, good advice is worth repeating."_

"Your definition of 'good' is very trying." Alice scowled in both directions as she reached the junction. To her right, stained old brick with possibly-imaginary moss growing over it. To her left, a length of dirty cobbles, containing nothing more than a couple of barrels overflowing with garbage. She was just about to move on–

When something about the leftmost barrel made her stop. She frowned at it. It seemed ordinary enough. But the shadow next to it – was it – _darker_ than normal? _Straight ahead. . .or askance. . . ._ She squinted hard at it. "Victor?"

The shadow moved, revealing itself to be black shoes and a black suit, all topped with a black head of hair. Cheshire let out a pleased little chuckle. _"A more pleasant surprise than an Automaton, even if he does have the fists to match."_

Alice ignored him in favor of crouching down beside Victor. "Well – I think you've paid me back for leading you on such a merry chase around London last year," she commented. "If I hadn't found you in the next five minutes or so, I was going to go straight down to Bow Street and get Hightopp to assist in the search."

Victor didn't reply. "I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're worried about," she said, touching his shoulder. "A little stunned, maybe, but. . .and don't worry, Splatter didn't follow me either. I made sure of that." She smiled. "Congratulations, you've finally convinced him that the threat of personal injury is not worth the satisfaction he'd get from dismembering you."

Still not a word – not even a twitch of a muscle. Alice frowned. "Before you were only too happy to brag about when you got one over on Splatter. The trick was getting you to shut up." She squeezed his shoulder. "Won't you say something?"

The silence stretched on, thicker and more uncomfortable with every second. ". . .I wanted him to die," Victor finally mumbled into his knees.

Alice rubbed his shoulder. "It's Jack Splatter. _Everyone's_ wanted that at some point."

"But not everyone's tried to strangle him." Victor raised his head, revealing red, haunted eyes. "I – I just – he w-was going on about m-me and you, and I was s-so angry already. . .and then he said – _t-that_ , and it – it was l-like a steam valve inside me just – b-burst. And then I was atop him, h-hands around his t-throat, the only thing on my m-mind silencing him forever. . .if you h-hadn't stopped me. . . ."

Alice scooted closer, wrapping her arm around him. "He was being extremely provoking," she whispered, tone gentle. "And given everything he's done to us. . . ." Her jaw clenched as she recalled Victor telling them about Bumby's offer to Splatter. "Honestly, if we'd encountered him on our own, I might now be helping you hide the body."

"Alice, I'm serious," Victor insisted, shaking his head. "I know that Splatter's life is barely worth more than Bumby's, but. . . ." He covered his face with his hands. "I almost _killed_ someone. I was angry enough to commit _murder_ over a few nasty words. Barkis put a sword to Victoria's throat, and even _then_ I held back! I thought that man above all others deserved to die, but I didn't end him with my own hand!"

"I don't think anyone would have blamed you if you had." Alice leaned her head against his. "And those were more than 'a few nasty words.' Splatter was aiming straight for the jugular with those, and he knew it. It's his own fault if the consequences were more than he imagined."

Victor gave her a look through his fingers that said she was failing hard at this being comforting business. Alice sighed. "Victor – I more than understand being angry enough to do terrible, terrible things. To want nothing more than to hurt and maim and kill." _Stinging hot mist in her eyes, burning pain in her back and head and fingers, an agonized moan giving way to a furious roar_ _as everything was tinted hellish red_ _. . ._ _bruised and beaten right down to the bone,_ _the world cracking around the edges, hurt so bad she could barely stand – and then an enraged scream, and the only color left in the world was blood. . . ._ "The trick is keeping that part of you on a very short leash."

"I don't know that trick! I never needed it before!" Victor jerked his head up, staring at the wall opposite as if he expected it to fall over on them at any second. "What if Dr. Wilson mentions – t-that word during therapy one day and I try to choke the life out of _him_? What if June says the wrong thing by accident and I throw her across the room? What if–" He swallowed. "W-what if one of the children starts teasing me one day and I – snap?"

Alice took his chin and turned his face toward hers. "You wouldn't. I know you wouldn't."

Victor stared at her. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I know you. I've seen you at your best and worst. No matter how furious you get, you're still Victor Van Dort inside. And Victor Van Dort would _never_ raise his hand to someone who didn't deserve it."

Victor frowned, dubious. "I nearly ripped my mother's head off when she and Father first came to visit me."

"Moments after she'd threatened to disown you for something _she'd_ done," Alice countered. "And you only attacked her under the belief that they'd handed you over to Bumby without a care in the world – that they'd condoned his treatment of you. You notice how your mother's never brought the incident up again after hearing the full story of your stay in Houndsditch? Even _she_ knows she was the villain there – that your anger was more than justified."

"What about the time I threatened to punch Dickenson to a bloody pulp?"

"That rat bastard was telling the world you were in cahoots with Bumby, and was about to ruin Victoria's reputation by claiming she was having an affair with you – or me," Alice reminded him. "I'm impressed all you did was _threaten_. I would have gone ahead and socked him one."

"That time I put a drawing quill through a man's eye?"

"That was self defense, plain and simple – Amos and Pete were ready to kill the both of us. I certainly wasn't gentle on my half of the duo, was I? And considering they were of Bumby's ilk, if we _had_ ended them, I think we would have done the world a favor."

Victor bit his lip. "What about – Alice, in Moorgate, I–"

"Did _nothing_ ," Alice cut him off. "You stopped yourself, Victor. You didn't hurt me."

"I could have," Victor whispered. "If I h-hadn't known your eyes–"

"But you did. Just when it was most important, you found the way to fight back." Alice looked him straight in the eyes. " _Bumby_ was the one who tried to hurt me, Victor. Not you. I wouldn't be planning to spend the rest of my life with you if I thought you were the least threat to me."

Victor winced, as if he'd just been slapped instead of comforted. "I don't w-want to be. . . ."

"And you're not," Alice insisted, pressing their foreheads together. "That wasn't even a matter of temper – that was Bumby forcing you to be something you're not." She stroked his cheek, pouring every ounce of conviction she had into her words. "I trust you, Victor. Around me, around Dr. Wilson, around June, around the children. . .around everything but pillows."

_That_ finally got a smile. "You are never letting me live that down, are you?"

"Never," Alice smirked, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Please don't beat yourself up over something that never happened. And don't drive yourself into fits worrying about your temper. Abigail just stole your sketchbook for the third time in one week and all you did was hold her upside-down for a bit and scold her. And she was recovered enough by the time we left to wish you ill out loud. I think you've got it mostly under control."

Victor nodded slowly. "Right. . .I'll – I'll try." After a pause, he added, "Would – would you have loved me less if I'd – finished the deed with Splatter?"

"No," Alice assured him, before smirking again. "Would be bloody hypocritical for me. I know we try not to say so in public, but I'm the one who's _actually_ guilty of murder in this relationship."

"Bumby wasn't murder," Victor growled, face dark. "Bumby was cleaning house."

"I can think of quite a few people, my Nanny included, who would declare you nearly choking Splatter to death to be the same. As I said, if we hadn't been surrounded by witnesses. . . ." She reached back and stroked his hair. "As it stands, you've cemented your reputation as a swell not to be messed with, even by the East End's most feared pimp. Let's not ruin the mystique by having any of the other lowlifes around here catch you hiding in an alley like a frightened child."

Victor nodded, releasing his knees. "No, I suppose we shouldn't." He pushed himself to his feet with the aid of the wall behind him. "C-can we stay out a little while longer? I don't. . . I can't go back j-just yet."

"That's fine," Alice assured him, straightening. "We can wander for a little while more. Not like we're strangers to this neighborhood."

"Well – er – actually, I might be," Victor admitted, looking around. "I wasn't really paying attention to anything when I ran – I just wanted to put as much distance between myself and Splatter as possible. Do you have any clue where we are?"

Alice eyed the heavy-limbed trees poking out of the side of the building, then the jacks and dice strewn across the cobbles. "Wonderland's making answering that question harder than it needs to be." She took his arm. "Still, one muckhole is the same as another around here. And if we walk long enough, we'll circle the world and end up back where we started."

"Merow. Mow!"

Alice started, then looked down. Standing between their legs, tail swishing, was a familiar white cat. "Or we could follow her and see what happens," she said, arching a suspicious eyebrow. "Back again, Guide?"

"Guide?" Victor repeated, following her gaze. His eyes widened. "Oh, _you_! I didn't expect to see that cat ever again. . .you named her?"

"It felt appropriate," Alice said, bending down and extending a hand. Guide sniffed it, murred, then consented to receive a few scratches behind her ears. "After all, she always seemed to know just when I ought to follow a furry creature down some dark hole. She was even there when I went to–"

She paused, the gears in her mind clicking. She couldn't be completely sure, but – they _had_ run in roughly the right direction. . . . "Guide? Is your ma–" ugh, even the first _syllable_ felt slimy on her tongue "– your _friend_ holed up nearby?"

Guide blinked at her, then meowed and bounded off to the end of the alley. Alice glanced at Victor, who shrugged. "You seem to know what you're doing."

"I just had a thought. . . ." Alice led him down to where Guide was waiting. The alley opened up onto what was practically a roundabout, given how sharply the street curved. To their right was a rag shop, with tattered coats and trousers on display, and lines of equally-disheveled laundry dangling from the second story. To their left was a tin dealer, with a trio of old men gathered around the front stoop, smoking and chattering about the good old days. And directly in front of them, perched on the corner, was a rickety little shop with a skeleton peeping out the front window. Alice grinned. "And it was a good one. I know _exactly_ where we are now."

"I'm glad one – well, _two_ of us do," Victor amended as Guide curled her tail around his leg. He leaned forward slightly to read the sign. "'Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs: Uncommon Cures for Uncommon Cases.' Wait, isn't that _–_ "

"The man who told me how to lend you my weapons?" Alice finished for him. "The very same. He's Guide's owner, insomuch as she has one. A bit theatrical, but a decent chap." She gave Victor's arm a little tug. "Shall we thank him in person for his assistance? I did say I'd come back for another visit."

Victor smiled. "I would be delighted. Lead the way, Guide."

Guide mewed, then trotted across the street, Victor and Alice on her heels. The bell tinkled as Victor opened the front door, allowing them all entrance. Guide immediately made for her chair, curling up on the seat in a little round disc of cat. Alice lingered by the door, watching Victor take in the dripping candles, colorful bottles, and posed skeletons. "What do you think?"

"Well, it certainly feels like an uncommon store," Victor said with a little grin. "All the shelves up there remind me of Elder Gutknecht's. . .hello?" he called, stepping forward.

_BANG!_ "Grrrreetings! Another young lost soul looking forrr – oh, it's you! I want it known I didn't see you before I started doing the voice."

Poor Victor just about leapt out of his skin – Alice grabbed his arm to steady him. "Quite the entrance," she greeted Dr. Fixxler with a snicker. "I'll forgive you the accent this time. It's what most of your customers want, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it means I have to gargle with salt water every night," Dr. Fixxler groused as he straightened up, tugging his lapels and fixing his hat. "Ah, the trials and tribulations of the small business owner." He brushed a bit of dust off his sleeve, then descended the stairs into the sitting area. "Anyway – welcome back! I was starting to think you'd forgotten me when you didn't return before Christmas."

"It was a very busy holiday around Houndsditch," Alice defended herself. "The children had never had a proper Christmas before, and there were a lot of preparations to make." She squeezed Victor's arm lightly. "Besides, can you blame me for wanting to spend as much time possible with my newly-restored beau?"

Fixxler chuckled. "Fair enough. So _this_ is the famous Victor Van Dort." He offered a hand. "Dr. Fixxler, at your service. Sorry about the scare just then."

"It's all right – just that door was loud," Victor assured him, slipping his own absurdly pale fingers into Dr. Fixxler's deep black ones. "A pleasure to meet you at last. Alice and I – we owe you a lot."

"Yes, we do," Alice agreed rather more seriously. "That little chat we had, it made all the difference. Victor had his memories back the very next day."

Fixxler grinned. "I'm glad – though I'm surprised you were able to use what I suggested. It was only _after_ you'd left that I remembered you needed specifically _written_ permission to use that particular spell."

There was a moment of charged silence. "Spell?" Victor repeated, eyes wide. "Wait, so – you're the real deal? An actual magician?"

Fixxler blinked. "Er – yes. You – didn't figure that out before? When you tried Travel Into Fantasy?"

"I wasn't sure," Alice confessed, twisting her hands together in front of her. "I mean, it's hard to believe someone's a real wizard in the East End. . .and we didn't do things quite like you described them, either. I drew some of my weapons for him and had him memorize what they look like so he could take the wall down in one of his own dreams."

"It was very effective," Victor said, clasping his hands. "Could – could that have been a spell too? On its own?"

"If it is, it's one I haven't heard of before – and I know just about every one that's around now," Fixxler told him. "My money would be on just a very well-constructed dream. Which, if it worked, good for you, I'm just happy I could help. But, Alice, why would you–"

He stopped abruptly, eyes going wide. "Oh. Oooooh," he groaned, slapping a hand over his face. "You didn't even know you _did_ that, did you? Damn it, shows me what happens when I start jumping to conclusions. . . ."

"Did what?" Alice asked, crossing her arms.

Fixxler waved a hand up and down her body. "False Flesh. Changing your dress into the blue one with the blood all over it. It looked so intimidating I was sure it had to be deliberate."

Alice's breath caught in her throat. _"Well – what an interesting turn of events,"_ Cheshire remarked, stretching out across the back of the armchair, back paws dangling. _"Even I didn't realize Wonderland and London were merging quite so tightly."_

_"Perhaps we can introduce your Houndsditch to the pleasures of a_ proper _cup of tea now!"_ Hatter cried, popping up from behind the couch with a cup already in hand. Hare and Dormy joined him, nodding so enthusiastically their gears ground. _"With_ exactly _measured cream and sugar! And perhaps an Automaton or two – all metal, I promise – to help with the housework?"_

_"I say we march right down to the Royal Opera House and offer them my latest creation,"_ Carpenter declared, twirling in front of the window on his peg leg. _"The stages of London crave the attentions of such a splendiforous impresario like myself!"_

_"We could always use more space for mining,"_ the Gnome Elder mused, poking his head out from under the display table and tapping the floorboards. _"Whatever lurks beneath these streets can't be any worse than Her Royal Malady."_

_"I could do with fresh hunting grounds,"_ Gryphon agreed, propping his claws on the front counter and fluffing his wings. _"If Victor doesn't feel comfortable taking out Splatter, I'll happily do the job! Less trouble than the Jabberwock, that's for damn sure."_

_All of you be quiet!_ "I – you – you _saw_ that?" she managed to Fixxler.

"Plain as day," Dr. Fixxler confirmed. "You must have a natural talent for the spell. Sorry I didn't say anything before – like I said, I thought you already knew."

"Alice!" Victor grabbed her hands, eyes shining bright, grinning from ear to ear. "This is fantastic! You can do magic!" He bounced on his heels like a little boy. "Can you show me? Please?"

"I – I can try. . . ." Ignoring Hatter forcing teacups on everyone and Carpenter trying to get a _very_ off-key singalong going, Alice shut her eyes tight and concentrated. _All right, just like when you fall down the rabbit hole,_ she told herself, reaching up and touching her omega for luck. _As natural as breathing. Blue dress, bloody apron, longer hair, healthy glow. . . ._

The shift wasn't as dramatic as it was in Wonderland, but she felt it nonetheless – a strange but not unpleasant tingle all over her body. She shook out her hair, then cracked open an eye. "Did it–"

Victor's dumbfounded expression made the rest of the question unnecessary. She grinned as he goggled at her. "Such shock! _You're_ the one who wanted to see it," she teased gently, slipping her hand out of his and doing a little twirl. "And besides, how many times have you drawn me like this?"

"It's different, finally seeing it in person," Victor whispered, tone practically reverent as he drank her in with his eyes. "Oh Alice. . .you're beautiful." Then his cheeks went red as he rubbed the back to his head. "T-that is to say – I'm not – y-you're always beautiful–"

Alice giggled and leaned forward to kiss his nose. "Victor – the whole _point_ of this is to look better than I do in real life." She did another spin, then smoothed out her skirts. "Hmmm – still feels like the dress I'm supposed to be wearing."

"It's just an illusion," Dr. Fixxler explained. "Only fools the eye. There _is_ a spell for changing one thing into another, but that requires a _massive_ amount of personal power, and a chunk of unicorn horn to sacrifice. But if you need a quick costume for a masquerade party, that should do."

Alice recalled Bumby's terrified gawking as she rounded on him in Moorgate, Wonderland in her eyes and murder in her heart. "Or if I need to scare the life out of a certain doctor," she murmured with vicious delight.

"You didn't get me _that_ badly," Fixxler said, waving a hand. "Though I won't deny it gave me a start. You don't usually see young ladies going around covered in fresh blood."

"I'm usually too busy killing monsters in Wonderland to bother with laundry there," Alice responded, smirking. "Though, if you're not fond of blood. . . ." She shut her eyes and concentrated again, this time on thick, sturdy leather and innumerable tight belts. The tingle zipped through her flesh, and she looked down to find the Steamdress on her body. "I do have some other options."

Victor shook his head. "That's incredible," he breathed. "I wish I could that."

"You can! Or, at least, I assume you can," Fixxler said, smiling. "It's not that hard a spell. You'd just need a handkerchief to rip in two."

"What?" Victor spun back to him, eyes wide. "You mean – I can do magic too?"

"Yup! Magic's open to everyone," Fixxler informed him, tipping his hat forward. "Though, admittedly, not everybody can cast every spell. It's a bit complicated – for someone who's visited the afterlife, you seem rather underinformed," he added with a joking grin.

"I didn't go Downstairs on purpose – I woke up Emily by accident!" Victor protested, arms flailing. "And then when she said we had to see Elder Gutknecht to get back Upstairs, I thought maybe only certain people–"

"Gutknecht?!" Fixxler grabbed Victor by the shoulders, staring at him intensely. "Not – _Theodor_ Gutknecht?"

Victor blinked, leaning back. "Ah, I-I'm afraid I never asked his first name. . .do you know him?"

"Every wizard and witch from here to California knows him!" Fixxler cried, flinging his arms wide. "He was one of the best! The father of us all! He _literally_ wrote the book on the rules of European magic! All of our knowledge on how spells and potions and enchantments work starts with him!"

"From a little old man in Burtonsville?" Alice asked, tilting her head.

"We didn't know that's where he was! The last bit of writing anyone's ever discovered from him is a letter to a friend announcing his plans to retire from active wizardry – and then he just vanishes out of Germany and the history books!" Fixxler took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "And now you come out of the blue saying he's living – er, _afterliving_ I suppose – under _your_ tiny village?!"

"I guess?" Victor shrugged. "Burtonsville _does_ have a lot of families from the continent – my own ancestors were Dutch." He looked over at Alice, shaking his head. "I might have met the greatest magician the world has ever seen and not even _known_ it?"

"Sounds like it – I think we're all getting a little overexcited," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "Dr. Fixxler, could we trouble you for a lesson or two in how magic even works? If anyone can do it, why haven't we heard about it before?"

"Exactly – why would Pastor Galswells call me devil-spawn if I'm not the only one who can visit the Underworld?" Victor added, face darkening.

"Like I said, it's complicated – just a moment." Fixxler darted behind the counter and retrieved a piece of card on a string. "There – 'Private Consultation,'" he told them, holding up the sign before opening his front door and dropping it over the knob. "Should stop people from bothering us. Though some idiot always seems to knock. . . ." He sighed and shut the door again. "Please, sit down – this'll take a bit."

Victor and Alice obligingly settled on the couch. "Now – raw magic power is just about everywhere – in places and people. But not everybody has the same amount. Think of it as. . .having a lake inside you." Fixxler sketched a circle in the air. "Each spell you can cast uses a certain amount of water. Little spells only take a few drops, bigger ones could potentially drain the whole thing in one go. With me so far?" They nodded. "All right. So, why doesn't everybody know about magic? Because most people don't have lakes." He traced a much smaller circle. "They have puddles."

"Ahh – I think I see where this is going," Alice nodded. "People get shirty when they can't do all the spells they want, don't they?"

"That's an understatement," Fixxler replied. "All of the flashier stuff, the kind you impress your friends with – that's high-power, beyond the reach of average folks. Most can only do four or five low-level spells. And while I imagine there's plenty of people who would be content with that – there's lots of useful spells that just about anybody can do – all it takes is one or two jealous ratbags to turn everybody against you. Gutknecht himself left a letter behind where he told of having to slip out of a village in the middle of the night because the mayor came asking to be taught magic, got angry when he realized he couldn't do all the same spells, and told everybody Gutknecht was evil and after their children."

"I sympathize," Victor sighed. "Though I don't think Pastor Galswells's crusade against me was out of jealousy."

"Never know – but yeah, preachers thinking all of this is from the devil is another big reason to keep things secret." Fixxler rubbed the back of his head. "Found _that_ out the hard way."

"You were run out of your hometown as well?"

"With fire and pitchforks, no less." Fixxler gave them an awkward smile. "I, uh, wasn't very discreet when I found my first book of magic and realized I had a gift for it. Almost the minute I opened up my first shop, the black and white churches came together to denounce me for doing 'Satan's Work.' And I'm from Alabama, mind – white agreeing with black on _anything_ was a rare sight. Not to mention the rich folk down there weren't too keen on some black boy who should be working for them instead making his own living selling potions and spells. . .fortunately, my sister thought it was all a bunch of hooey and dropped a few hints that I needed to get out of town when things started heating up. Packed up as much as I could and hopped a river boat – got word a few days later that they'd burned my shop to the ground to get rid of the devil's taint."

Alice covered her mouth in horror. "Oh no. . .the rest of your family was all right?"

"Oh, Pop kicked me out the house the moment he discovered me with my first spellbook – he probably dropped the first torch. My sister took advantage of the whole thing to slip north – last I heard, she was doing fine."

"Good." Alice sighed. "I'm surprised you stayed in the magic business after such a poor start."

"Give up the best thing that ever happened to me? Not bloody likely," Fixxler replied with a grin. "I just learned how to dress it up better." He tipped his hat. "People like a show – and as long as they think it's either some mystical, foreign thing that only I can do, or some long con that they don't care about stopping, we're all happy. I mean, I still get the occasional bloke or lady at the door with a Bible and a few words for me, but it's a lot easier to shoo them off." He smirked, and put on the "mysterious" voice. "Orrrr talk them into buying someving."

_"Spoken like a true man of the stage,"_ Carpenter said, applauding.

_Yes, I think he could rival you for overacting when he puts on that accent._ "Well, we're very glad you did," Alice said, ignoring Carpenter's indignant spluttering. She glanced down at her chest. "So – I assume there's a way to check how much power anyone has. Are we more than puddles?"

"You, definitely – False Flesh is only mid-level, but it's still beyond a good chunk of people," Fixxler said. "Victor – well, let's see." He squinted hard at her companion –

And, out of nowhere, his dark eyes flared with golden light. Victor and Alice both started. "Oh – what's that?" Victor asked, blinking.

"Called 'Signature Sense,'" Fixxler said, looking them up and down. "My own personal gift, magic-wise. Shows me everyone's – magical. . .huh."

He frowned suddenly, leaning toward Victor. "That's – kind of odd."

"What's kind of odd?" Victor asked, hand flying to his tie.

"Your aura doesn't look quite right."

"My – what?"

"It's a sort of colorful glow everyone's got," Fixxler explained, examining the air around Victor's body. "You need this spell to see it, though. Shows how much raw magical power you have, how healthy you are, whether or not you've got a natural knack for something – and whether you're alive or dead."

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Shouldn't that last be rather obvious?"

"You'd think so – but that's the thing. Victor's is saying he's both at the same time."

Now it was Alice's turn to blink in confusion. "What?"

"Both?" Victor extended his arms and stared at them. "Well – I _have_ been to the Land of the Dead without actually dying. . . ."

"So have I – popped Downstairs once in Alabama to see my grandparents while I was still testing out the book I found," Fixxler said. "My aura never changed. Now, perhaps _I'm_ the weirdo, but I'm pretty sure what happened to you isn't standard." His lips pursed thoughtfully. "Although – how you got down there wasn't standard either, was it? What exactly happened when you accidentally married Emily?"

"Well – I was practicing my vows in the woods, and I unknowingly put the ring on her finger when I finally got them right," Victor recounted, playing with his hands in his lap. "Moments later, she grabbed me and tried to drag me into the dirt. I fought back and accidentally ripped her arm off, which made her dig her way out of her grave to say 'I do' in person. I panicked, ran, and – well, when she caught up with me, I fainted," he confessed, blushing. "I'm afraid I have no idea how she got me Downstairs – by the time I woke up, I was already down there."

"Hmmm." Fixxler paced up and down in front of them. "Not normal at all for Slip Through The Veil. . .and you said before Elder Gutknecht had to send you back Upstairs, correct?"

"Twice," Victor confirmed. "Once when I convinced her that we ought to meet my parents, and once for our wedding."

"Not surprised – Slip Through the Veil requires a _lot_ of magical power. You'd need the equivalent of a magical sea to fuel it. Emily didn't show any talents that way?"

Victor shook his head. "I thought she could come and go as she pleased, but when I suggested meeting my parents, she immediately asked where they were buried. And when I explained they were still alive, she said that was a problem." He furrowed his brow, glancing at the floor. "She _was_ able to understand Scraps perfectly, though, so I'm guessing she knew _some_ magic."

"There's a spell for talking to animals, yes," Fixxler confirmed. "But if she couldn't cast Slip Through The Veil on her own. . .then I'm thinking the reason Gutknecht found Burtonsville a suitable spot to retire is that it's a magically-sensitive area."

Victor's expression was dubious. "You're saying Burtonsville is – to use your metaphor – in a lake of magic?"

"People don't have to use it for it to be there," Fixxler replied. "Magic pools up and spreads out pretty randomly, from what we've seen. And it might not be the whole village – just where Emily died."

"Hmmmm. . .that part of the forest _did_ feel a little – different from the rest," Victor admitted. "I'm not sure how to describe it. Like that whole patch of ground was – waiting for something?"

"So – because Emily was murdered in a more magical than usual spot, she was able to – borrow the forest's power?" Alice asked, tapping her chin as she tried to make sense of things.

"Sort of. The thing about places like that is, they respond to human desires." Fixxler raised a finger. "If you want something bad enough, and you end up in one, you can sometimes cast spells that normally you wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of doing on your own. Or even twist them into something _nobody_ could manage, no matter how magically gifted they are."

Victor snapped his fingers. "'So she made a vow lyin' under that tree, that she'd wait for her true love to come set her free!' That's what Bonejangles said near the end of his song! And I'd decided ages ago that magic must have been the reason her hand was reaching out like that! So when she made her vow, she must have gotten the chance to come back to the Land of the Living on her own one last time!"

"Exactly – to collect her husband once he showed up! And since _she_ can't stay Upstairs indefinitely, neither can he – which means, boom, you're an honorary dead person." Fixxler clapped his hands together. "I should write this down, see if Unseen University's interested. Been a while since I had my name in there. . . ."

"Unseen University?" Victor echoed, eyes wide. "There's magical _universities_ now?"

"Have we had the bad luck of missing out on a whole magic school system?" Alice asked, folding her arms. "Because I would have much preferred a term or two learning how to cast spells at a boarding school then trooping off every weekday to learn spelling at the local day school."

"No, no – or, at least, if there's actual schools of magic around, nobody's bothered to tell _me_ ," Fixxler said, shaking his head. " _Unseen University_ is the name of a magazine for witches and wizards. Sort of like Beeton's _Domestic –_ there's tips on how to use certain spells, articles on new discoveries, and editorials on magic in daily life. The gimmick is that all the main staff and contributors go by academic titles – the editor-in-chief is referred to as the Archchancellor, for example. The Reader in Invisible Writings does a lot on examining magic scientifically – it's a pretty fascinating read."

"How do you go about getting it?" Victor asked. "I certainly never saw it in the penny shop in Burtonsville, and I was in there every week picking up dreadfuls."

"There's a mailing list – well, I _say_ that, but as you might expect, it doesn't come through traditional mail." Fixxler grinned. "I'm sure I can get you on it, though."

"I would hope so, considering you're planning on using his life story for an article," Alice said, mostly joking.

"I don't mind you writing it up," Victor promised, holding up a hand. "Just so long as I have a look at it first."

"Well, of course!" Fixxler promised. "I'll even make sure you're listed as co-author. As she said, your life story."

"Oh, thank you. . .I've always wanted to have my name in a magazine," Victor said, smiling. "Granted, I was thinking one of the lepidoptery journals, but I'll happily take a magical one."

"If they accept fiction, perhaps I'll submit a Wonderland story or two," Alice added. "As a trial run for this book everyone tells me I should write."

"There's actually a separate magazine for stories – _Hogwarts_. I can see about getting you on that list too."

"That would be most generous of you." Alice chuckled. "Oh dear – we came in here to thank you, and here we are, making a whole new set of demands on your time."

"It's fine," Fixxler assured her. "I appreciate the chance to talk about this like a _normal_ person, instead of having to put on the act. Keeps food on the table, but it gets tiring after a while."

"I'm sure. And I doubt you can just pop out whenever you like for–"

_"So have I – popped Downstairs once in Alabama to see my grandparents while I was still testing out the book I found."_

Alice froze. "Wait – let's rewind the conversation back a few minutes, if you don't mind. _You_ can get to the Land of the Dead?"

"What? Oh, yes!" Fixxler nodded. "One of the lucky ones – like I said, it takes a _lot_ of power. Barring special circumstances like your boyfriend accidentally proposing to a very hopeful corpse in just the right spot, of course."

Alice's stomach wriggled about her abdomen – she pressed her hands against her belly to quiet it. "Could you – send someone else Downstairs as well? Like how Elder Gutknecht used his Ukrainian haunting spell on Victor and Emily?"

"Well, considering it's the same spell, certainly. Works both ways, you see." Fixxler touched his hat brim. "I'm guessing this has to do with your family."

"You guess right," Alice confirmed, tapping her feet. Cheshire hopped down from his armchair and pressed himself against her legs, while Gryphon gave her an encouraging look from the counter. "Dr. Wilson and I were discussing it just this morning – yes, he knows about the Land of the Dead," she added in response to Fixxler's surprised look.

"He was actually the first psychiatrist my parents brought in to 'cure' me," Victor explained. "He didn't believe me then, but he also didn't consider my belief anything to worry about. And then, he arrived to take over the Houndsditch Home at the same time Victoria came to visit me with her husband, and she was only too willing to back my story up."

"Yes, she seems to make it a personal mission to tell unbelievers where they can go," Alice said. Hatter, Hare, and Dormy nodded in agreement. "Two eyewitness accounts were enough for him to keep an open mind, anyway – open enough to suggest that visiting my family Below would be good therapy, in fact. Give me the closure I never received after the fire." She twisted her fingers together. "I understand you might consider this a dreadful imposition, but – is there any way you could cast the spell for us? Or any chance of you teaching it to us? You never actually said how much power we have."

"Not that much, I'm afraid," Fixxler apologized. "You're both fairly magically gifted, but nowhere near the level needed for that spell. There _is_ a built-in loophole that allows anyone to cast it, but that involves waiting until Halloween for the barrier between living and dead to naturally thin."

Alice bit her lip. "I suppose one could argue I've waited this long, but. . . ." She looked up at Dr. Fixxler, putting on her best pleading look. Carpenter motioned for her to whip up some tears – she ignored him. "I _so_ want to see them again, Dr. Fixxler. Could you please. . . ?"

Fixxler smiled, tipping his hat. "I certainly can. For a price, of course."

"I still have plenty of my inheritance left – I don't mind spending it on this."

"And I should have enough money in my trust fund to cover _whatever_ price you have in mind," Victor added. "And don't you say a word about 'spoiling,' Alice – I want to meet them too."

"Well, obviously I must charge travel expenses, but I was thinking something a little less monetary," Fixxler explained. "Namely, Master Van Dort, you take me to Burtonsville and I see for myself whether or not you've met one of the greatest magicians who's ever lived and died."

"Oh – of course!" Victor assured him. "That shouldn't be a problem at all. I'd love to see Scraps and Ms. Plum and Bonejangles and all the rest again. Do you mind, Alice?"

"Not at all," Alice said, grass springing up under her feet in her excitement. "I'd like to see Burtonsville in person myself at least once. We can go round in a big loop, make a proper adventure of it. Unless you know of a good way to get us around magically, Dr. Fixxler."

"A way, yes – a good one, not so much," Fixxler said, wrinkling his nose and _tch_ ing. "It's called Go Wither You Will, and it's a close cousin of Slip Through The Veil – but it's a tricky bastard, if you'll pardon my language. It goes wrong really easily, and when it does, it has a nasty tendency to fling you to a random place. The _Unseen University_ staff did some experiments once – aimed for a beach in the Caribbean, ended up in the middle of Australia."

_"Well, that rat Radcliffe was always saying you ought to settle down on a farm there,"_ Gryphon said, chuckling. _"I'd welcome the chance to battle a kangaroo. And Rabbit should feel right at home!"_

"I think we'll rent a carriage," Alice said, shaking her head. "Slip Through The Veil doesn't do that if it fails, does it?"

"No, it just doesn't work," Fixxler assured her. "Doesn't suffer the same translation issues, I think – Go Wither You Will came from some lost corner of Transylvania, and I don't think us English-speakers ever got the wording quite right."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Perhaps you can ask Elder Gutknecht about it when you see him." Alice clapped her hands together. "Speaking of which – do either of you have a preference as to which place we visit first?"

"Well, I'd like to visit Burtonsville first, but you're the customers – it's your choice," Fixxler told her.

"Whatever you'd like, Alice," Victor said. "I really don't–"

Abruptly, he stopped, brow furrowing. "Wait. . .today's. . .and it's about five days out. . . ." He looked down at his hands, rubbing his left ring finger. "Actually – could we go to Burtonsville first?" he asked softly. "If you don't mind?"

_"Given the trouble he's put you through lately, I would say you do mind,"_ the Queen muttered from just over Alice's shoulder.

_You are aware that just makes me inclined to say the opposite?_ "Not really, but why?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Because – I s-sort of need to be there." He took a deep breath and looked her full in the face. "January 26th will be the first anniversary of the day I met Emily."

The Queen's jaw shut with an audible _snap_. "Oh. . .yes, you _should_ be there for that," Alice agreed, sliding her arm around him. "Has that been on your mind too, then?"

"No – I just realized it now," Victor said. "I mean, obviously I still _think_ about her, and what happened, but I didn't really. . . ."

Alice frowned at his expression. "Are you all right?"

"Yes – mostly," Victor replied, shaking his head. "It's just. . . ." He spun his hand around. "Part of me is going, 'how can it _possibly_ be a year?' and the other part is like, 'how is it _just_ a year?'"

"Ah yes – the 'delightful' twistedness of Time," Alice said, inverted commas locking neatly into place. "Ten years can go by in the blink of an eye, and one night can last decades. Hatter, if you're back on speaking terms with him, tell him that he ought to pick a speed and stick with it."

_"Oh, he never listens – and I'm not eager for all my clocks to lock up again,"_ Hatter told her, sipping his teacup. After a moment's consideration, he took a bite out of it, causing tea to cascade all over his face. _"Not even your Victor threatening to choke him would do the trick!"_ he continued, spitting bits of china all over March and Dormy. The latter yawned and swatted him with his tail. _"Hey!"_

_Don't talk with your mouth full,_ Alice scolded. _And Victor wouldn't do such a thing even if he could – meet. . .him. . . ._

Victor frowned at her. "Everything all right? He hasn't said something rude, has he?"

"No, it's – the whole reason this started is because Dr. Fixxler gave me a spell to use," Alice whispered. "One that would let me go into your mind. And even if we didn't recognize it before – you wouldn't have given me something I couldn't cast, right?" she said, turning to Fixxler.

Fixxler shook his head in confirmation. "False Flesh and Travel Into Fantasy – the spell I told you about – take about the same amount of power. And, if I may anticipate your next questions – yes, Victor's got enough power to cast it as well, and – as long as you give each other written permission – it doesn't matter who actually kicks it off. The connection works both ways once you're in – the note just determines which mind you enter first."

The squeal that escaped her was probably one of the more embarrassing noises of Alice's life, but she was too thrilled to care. "Wonderland! Victor, I can bring you to Wonderland!"

Victor gaped for a second, eyes wide. Then the biggest smile she'd ever seen on him nearly split his face in two. "Oh, Alice!" He swept her up into a hug. "That would – that would be _fantastic_!"

"I know!" Alice squeezed him tight. "We could even go tonight, if you wanted!"

Victors' face promptly flip-flopped between eager agreement and sudden anxiety. "Oh – I – oh, Alice, I do want to, but. . . ." He pulled away, rubbing the back of his head and biting his lip. "R-remember what I said earlier? About the 'best' me? That applies double to going to Wonderland. I don't know. . .and with the anniversary suddenly so close. . .maybe after our trip?" he suggested. "Hopefully by then I'll have a clear head. And you'll have your closure."

_"We've got to clean up the factories if we're ta meet him in person!"_ March agreed, throwing a napkin in Hatter's face before dragging him and Dormy behind the couch. _"Wash the plates, shine the gears, fluff the dodos. . . ."_

_"I've got to warn Mock,"_ Gryphon said, stroking his beak with a claw before ducking under the counter. _"He'll panic if Victor just shows up!"_

_"A new play! We must have a new play!"_ Carpenter cried, throwing his hands in the air as he marched off. _"And that utterly lazifacious drunkard of an Octopus_ will _take his time!"_

_"The boys will probably want_ some _warning, just so we can wear clean shirts,"_ the Gnome Elder said with a chuckle, disappearing back under the table.

Cheshire grinned up at Alice. _"Well,_ I _don't care when he comes_ ," he said, stretching and cracking every vertebrae in his spine. _"Cats never do. But it seems the rest of your mind would like a bit of time to prepare. And I should note that Wonderland is safe in memory – but not quite so much in person. The Duchess and Hatter may let bygones be bygones, but not all of your enemies feel the same."_

Samurai Wasps buzzed in her ear, and Snarks nipped at her boots. Alice swung a leg and waved an arm to chase them away. "Point," she said to Victor and Cheshire simultaneously. "I want to show you Wonderland's best face too. And that means making sure there is an absolute minimum of nasty creatures lurking about."

"It would be appreciated," Victor said with a little laugh. He took her hands in his. "All right – Burtonsville first then. I'll pay my respects at Emily's grave, introduce you to all my friends, and arrange for Dr. Fixxler to meet Elder Gutknecht. And then straight on to Oxford so I can finally meet your parents and sister."

"And after that, Wonderland," Alice nodded. "So you can finally see for yourself just how mad the place is. We'll have to tell Dr. Wilson right away. And you should probably send some word ahead to your parents," she added reluctantly. "They'll want to know you're coming, I'm sure."

"So they can make plans to be out of town?" Victor joked, then grimaced. "Actually, I hope they do. Otherwise we'll obligated to call on them, and. . . ."

"We survived them visiting Houndsditch – we can make it through visiting their house," Alice assured him. "It'll only be for a night – and we won't even be sleeping there."

"True. . .I should write Victoria too," Victor nodded. "Just in case she wants to join us for the first leg of the journey. It's an important anniversary for her too."

"Of course." Alice smiled warmly at Dr. Fixxler. "Thank you so much for this – all of it. It means a lot to us."

"My pleasure, I assure you," Fixxler said, sweeping his hat off and bowing. He strode over to the counter and picked up a decanter. "A toast to our new friendship, and to our trip?"

"Why not? Though I admit, neither Victor or I are much for alcohol."

"I'll just do water then," Fixxler said, uncorking the bottle –

And spitting in it. Alice opened her mouth to ask why on earth he'd done that, when suddenly the glass flashed brilliant blue. Moments later, the bottle was full of fresh, clear water. "What?" Alice managed, gawking.

Victor was similarly agog. "H-how. . . ."

Fixxler's smile shone in the little shop. "Nile's Blessing. Want to learn?"

Every part of Alice's body screamed yes – except for one. "Right after you drink some of that to prove it's all right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--> _Unseen University_ and its staff are references to the "Wizards" cast of Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ series. The test of Go Wither You Will that went wrong is a more specific shout-out to a certain book, _The Last Continent_ , which features the staff of Unseen first finding themselves in a tropical paradise, then sailing on a boat-seed (it makes sense in the book) to the Disc version of Australia, XXXX.
> 
> \-->Alice's comment about magical boarding school and the fiction magazine, _Hogwarts_ , are references to the _Harry Potter_ series by JK Rowling.
> 
> \-->I know Hatter took a bite out of a teacup in one of the early trailers for _Alice:Madness Returns_ , but the actual thing I was thinking of when my Hatter did the same was Tom Petty's band eating the plates in his Alice in Wonderland-themed music video for "Don't Come Around Here No More."


	4. A Ruinous Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants a creepy sex nightmare? No one? Too bad! More seriously, some _disturbing imagery_ ahead, and some allusions to rape and dealing with the aftermath. The worst of it is short, but I think it leaves an impact. Poor Victor definitely agrees. . .

January 19th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

1:32 A.M.

_You know, if I could spend the rest of my life right here, in this moment, I would be perfectly content._

Victor pressed himself a little closer against Alice as their lips met again, full of warmth and passion. In all his boyhood daydreams, he'd never truly appreciated just how _wonderful_ kissing could be. He'd guessed that it would be fun, of course – the other boys, the one who actually attracted girls, certainly seemed to think so. And he'd fantasized about it plenty, wondering what it would feel like, how it would taste, whether or not any girl would ever like him enough to try it. But it had always been just one of those "expected" things about relationships – something married couples could do without everyone looking down upon them. Another check mark on the list of "being a proper adult."

The reality of it, though. . .he pulled back slightly, taking in Alice's flushed cheeks and swollen lips, pink with delight and desire. Their breath mingled, hot and needy, as her hands caressed the back of his neck. He smiled and dove back in, crushing his mouth against hers, their tongues brushing. No married couple in Burtonsville kissed like this – but he didn't care. They didn't know what they were missing. He could seriously stay here forever, relishing the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips, the touch of her hand sliding down his spine. . .over his hip. . .down to –

His eyes popped open with a gasp. What the – had she really – he jerked away and looked. Yup, there was her hand, resting between his legs, lightly cupping the bulge he'd been doing his best to ignore. Heat flooded his cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. What on earth was she doing?

Alice took his chin and tilted his face up to meet hers again. "Something wrong?" she asked, tone all innocence but eyes glittering with playful wickedness.

"I – ah – I d-didn't realize you'd n-noticed that," he admitted, blushing all the harder.

"Hard not to once it started poking me in the leg." Alice patted the bulge. "Perhaps we ought to do something about it?"

Victor's jaw nearly hit the floor. What – she – "R-really?" he managed to get out, voice rising to a nervous squeak.

"Better than ignoring it, right?" Alice untucked her blouse and pulled it up over her head. Victor's eyes widened as, for the first time, he saw her in her chemise and corset. "I'm sure you'll appreciate the relief – my leg certainly will. It's the way things were trending anyway." She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her skirt. "Well?"

_No! It's too soon!_ Victor's brain cried, whirling around in full panic mode. _You're not married yet! You're not even officially_ engaged _! What if someone walks in on you? What if someone overhears? You'll be kicked out into the street! Do you even know what to do? Can you trust yourself to satisfy her?_

_Look at her,_ his manhood whispered, swelling even larger. _Just look at her. She's the most beautiful woman we've ever seen. She loves us. And she wants us. Over anyone else, she wants_ us _. And we want her. Why don't we take her?_

Victor swallowed. His brain was still yapping away about propriety and inexperience. . .but it was very hard to listen with all his blood rushing southwards. And the look in Alice's eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, smoldering with lust. . . . "All right," he breathed, and started undoing his jacket.

With decision made, it seemed to take no time at all before they were both naked. Alice stretched out luxuriously below him, like a cat inviting a belly rub. Victor drank in her form with his eyes. Long, slender legs. . .perky little breasts. . .dark hair fanned out across the pillow. . .and, as always, those sharp, bright eyes, looking at him with such love. Victor bit his lip as his vision grew watery. Oh God, he was such a sap. . .but he couldn't help it. The very idea that this gorgeous, vital, intelligent, all-around amazing woman wanted _him_. . .he reached up, wiping the wetness away.

His fingers came back black.

He froze, eyes locked on the gunk painted across his hand. It glistened in the dim light of their room, burning his skin. And now that he was paying attention, he realized the liquid streaming down his face was much too hot for tears. . .he wiped again, and again, and _again_ , clawing at his cheeks, scrubbing at his eyes with a fist, growing more frantic with every passing second. . .but it just kept coming and coming, pouring over his fingers and gathering around his chin in a dripping, searing coat. . . .

"Victor?" Alice asked – and her voice was _wrong_ suddenly, echoing and distorted as if she was now very far away. "Are you all right?"

He opened his mouth, intending to say no, to beg for her help, but then he looked down and the sentence became a scream instead. Alice's face was _gone_. All that remained was a smashed-in hole, a black void that threatened to yank him in and drown him. . .he jerked back, but that didn't help, that just gave him a better view of her body – smooth pale porcelain now, marred here and there with spiderweb cracks. . .and between her legs. . .her maidenhood had been bashed in as well, Ruin oozing from the broken edges of the gap. . .crunching miserably as her thighs spread impossibly wide. . . . "Aren't you going to defile me?"

Victor scrambled off the bed, landing on the floor with a bump. "I – I n-need a m-moment," he babbled, tripping and stumbling over himself as he backed toward the door, unable to tear his eyes away from the empty horror of what had once been his love.

"A moment? For what?" The doll turned over, presenting its arse to him. Another hole broke open, bits of china falling away as more Ruin leaked out over its curves. "Don't you want to hurt me? Poison me? Corrupt me? Destroy me?"

"I just need a moment!" His hand found the doorknob, and Victor fled into the hall, all too aware of the pitter-patter of Ruin still dripping from his face. He raced to the bathroom, chased by the image of that black abyss, staring at him, inviting him to – _No no no it's not real it's not real it's the Ruin it's infected your eyes somehow you clean it out and everything will be all right again just have to scrub them clean scrub them clean scrub them clean –_ He slammed the door behind him, wrenched on the taps, then looked up into the old foggy mirror to get an idea of the damage.

A familiar bearded face grinned back at him. _**"Well well well,"**_ Bumby said, glasses flashing. _**"**_ _ **Look at this.**_ _ **Should I have taken you on as an apprentice instead of a toy, my dear Thirteen?"**_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Victor bolted upright, gasping for breath. Beside him, he felt Alice jolt awake. "What the – Victor?" She sat up, kicking away the covers, one hand darting under her pillow as she looked left and right. "What is it? What happened?"

Victor stared straight ahead, gulping down air, unable to reply. Her voice – he knew it was just a bit muzzy with sleep, but it was still _wrong_ , wrong enough that he didn't dare look at her, because what if he did and he saw nothing but void, an empty space where the woman he loved once was – and it was all his fault, all his fault, he'd infected her, broken her, _Ruined_ her – and the bedroom was too dark and the sheets too thick and oh God his face was still all hot and sticky had to get it off get it off _get it off –_

"Victor? Victor! Stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"

Alice's hand closed around his wrist, dragging his clawing fingers away from his skin _–_ " _Don't touch me!_ " he screamed, yanking it away. Because that's all it took, one touch and she would be _corrupted_ , _destroyed –_ he couldn't do this he had to get away had to – "I need a moment!" burst from his lips, and he flung the covers back and ran from the room, the drip of the Ruin ringing in his ears as the cycle repeated over again, locking him in a terrible moment of violation and pain – he darted into the bathroom and slammed the door, twisted on the taps and looked in the mirror –

His own face stared back at him.

Victor gripped the sides of the sink, examining his reflection. It was definitely him – pale and worn, hair plastered against his scalp, no sign of the terrible black gunk. But – but he was still so warm, so sticky, how could he be _–_

_Sweat,_ his brain finally put in as he coasted down from the heights of terror. _You're sweating. You got hot during the night and started to sweat. That's all. Just sweat._ He wiped his face with a sleeve, shoulders slumping in relief. _You're not Ruined. You're not corrupted._

_Not yet._

_knock-knock_ "Victor?"

Victor nearly jumped out of his skin. "No!" he cried, then swallowed, forcing himself to speak calmly. "I – p-please, Alice. I – I need a minute."

"But – is there anything _–_ "

"I just need a minute," Victor begged, voice cracking. "P-please."

There was a thick, terrible silence. "All right," Alice finally said, reluctance clear. "I'll see you in a minute."

"Thank you." Victor listened hard as she turned away from the door and headed back down the hall. Once he was sure she'd really gone, he let out a deep, shuddering sigh. God, that had been a bad one. . .the worst yet, in fact. Especially with how close Alice had come to finding out. . . . He stuck his face in the sink, letting the chilly water wash away the remnants of his dream. Why did he keep having these nightmares? Why did his sleeping mind like to torment him so?

_**You know why, Thirteen. . . .** _

Victor jerked his head up, then yelped as it collided with the faucet. "Ow! Damn it. . . ." He turned off the water and stood up straight, rubbing his aching skull. "Shut up," he told his reflection. "I'm not – I'm not Thirteen anymore. I fixed that. I beat him."

His reflection didn't look convinced. "I beat him!" Victor reiterated, more forcefully. "I smashed that wall to smithereens! I stabbed him straight in his bloody heart and killed him! He has no hold over me anymore!"

_"Aren't you going to defile me?"_

Victor gritted his teeth, shoving away the image of that black, gaping hole offering itself up to him. "I would _never_ ," he hissed. "I would _never_ do such a thing to Alice."

_**But you'd dream about doing it. Dream about taking her and making her yours. Dream about violating her the same way you were.** _

"Dreams and reality are–"

_**Not that different. Certainly not now, when she can invite you into her very mind. Do you think she'd want you there if she knew the way you look at her? Where your eyes keep straying? Where you want to** _ **touch** **_her?_ **

Victor stared at himself in the mirror. A wet, haunted face looked back at him. So innocent right now. . .but it took so little for it to turn cruel and lustful. . . . He dropped his head, unable to take even his own gaze. "Why are you so weak?" he whispered, shame filling him. "He barely had a chance to get his claws into you. Seven days, that's all. Seven days, and you're still. . . ." He stopped, not wanting the words to actually leave his mouth. "He couldn't have put all these thoughts into my head over one measly week. Couldn't have corrupted me so fully."

_**Maybe he didn't have to. Maybe the reason he took you is because deep down inside, he saw a kindred spirit, someone as twisted as himself** _ **–**

Victor slammed the door on that thought. "No. I am _not_ as bad as him," he snapped, yanking the towel off its ring and drying his face. "I _know_ the difference between right and wrong. He didn't take that away from me. Alice will _never_ suffer by my hand. I will _never_ inflict such twisted horrors on her."

**_No, you'll just wake her up in the middle of the night screaming your fool head off. What the hell does she even see in you?_ **

"I don't know. But she's still here. Which means I have to keep trying." He shoved the towel back into place and glared at the Victor in the mirror. "All you are doing right now is making life harder for everyone else," he snarled. "You're lucky you didn't wake up the whole house just now. What do you think Dr. Wilson would have made of that little episode, hmm? What if he'd found out the truth? You'd already be on your way to Rutledge! And you'd deserve it too." He jabbed a finger at the glass. "You are the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel. You are the Defeater of the Wall. You burst Bumby's Ruined heart and sent it back to Hell where it belongs. You should know how to fix this already. And you should _not_ be so affected by some stupid bad dreams. Just go back to bed and _get over it_."

A grumpy part of his brain chimed, _Yes, because that worked so well whenever your mother told you to do that,_ but he ignored it. After almost a fortnight, it was still the only advice he had. He pulled his shoulders back, forcing himself to stand straight and tall. "Get over it," he repeated. Then he yanked open the bathroom door and started back down the hall.

June's door opened as he passed. "Victor?" She poked her head out, rubbing her eyes. "Everything all right? I swear I heard a scream just now. . . ."

"Sorry – just me, having another stupid nightmare," Victor told her, putting as much conviction as he could behind the words. _Don't burden her with your problems. Don't even hint at how awful you can be. Go back to bed and get over it._ "Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep."

June frowned, dubious. "You're sure?"

"Quite. It's nothing, really. You needn't stay awake on my account."

June's frown didn't disappear, but she nodded and retreated back inside her room. Victor sighed and proceeded over to his door. Alice was waiting on the bed, Mr. Bunny in her arms. She fixed him with a piercing look as he came inside. "That was _not_ just 'another stupid nightmare.'"

"Yes it was," Victor said, closing the door behind him.

"Bullshit," Alice replied, shaking Mr. Bunny for emphasis. "I woke up to you trying to _claw your face off_ , Victor. Stupid nightmares don't do that to people." Her tone softened. "What happened?"

_Oh nothing, Alice, I just once again realized what a vile person I am deep down inside and why you shouldn't trust me as far as you can throw me._ "I don't want to talk about it," Victor snapped, sitting down so hard on the mattress the pillows jumped. "I just want to go back to sleep and forget it ever happened. You should too."

"Forget my boyfriend attempting to rip his skin to shreds right in front of me? Yes, that'll work," Alice said, sarcasm dripping off every word.

"Well, _I've_ managed to not bring up the time I caught you trying to _smother_ yourself mid-nightmare, haven't I?"

"Yes, but I didn't tell you to just _ignore_ me doing that! I let you know what was bothering me! Don't I deserve the same courtesy?"

_You'll probably try to smother_ me _if I tell you –_ "I thought we agreed this afternoon that I'm allowed to have some space to figure things out on my own?" Victor said instead, glaring.

Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think I'm at least entitled to an explanation as to why you attacked yourself like that! You were scratching at your _eyes_ , Victor! What if you'd done something to them? I know you think going blind is a fate worse than death!"

Oh God, he hadn't even _thought_ of that. . .and now that he was, it wasn't helping his mood any. "I didn't – it was – nothing happened!" he shouted, going red. "I'm fine now! It was just a dream and we should stop bothering with it!" He flung himself onto the pillow, rolling over to face the wall. "And I'd like to wake up tomorrow morning actually feeling rested, thank you very much!"

"So would I, but that's not going to happen if I'm sitting up here worrying about you!"

"Then maybe you should sleep somewhere else tonight!"

The shocked, hurt silence that descended between them was an unpleasantly familiar one. Alice stared at him a moment – then her eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said coldly, standing up and collecting her pillow. "I'm sure the girls upstairs won't mind the company. Good night, Master Van Dort."

And then she was gone, out the door before he could say a word. Victor watched as she slammed it shut behind her, stomach twisted into a knot. Damn it, why did this always happen when he was upset? What on God's green earth was wrong with his tongue?

**_Three for three now,_** the nasty voice in his head sniggered. **_Just more proof you don't deserve her._**

_Shut up,_ Victor told it, smacking his temple lightly. _I'll – I'll talk to her in the morning. Apologize. Being away from each other for a little while worked with Emily. And Victoria, come to think of it. It could be we both need a night alone._ He pulled the covers over himself and let his head flop back against the pillow. _You've made it to bed – now to get over it. You owe Alice that much._

Of course, as this night was proving, such things were much easier said than done. Victor tossed and turned, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. The mattress was simply too lumpy, too cold, too – empty. Every time he settled in and closed his eyes, he became freshly, deeply aware of the gaping hole by his side. Which only led his thoughts back to another gaping hole, and a china body, and glasses flashing in the mirror. . . . He shuddered and sat up, pressing his fingers against his eyes. "Ugh. . .maybe I should see if the boys would mind me staying in their room for the night."

"If Reggie, Charlie, and Dennis are anything like Abgail, Elsie, and Harriet, you're going to be bombarded with questions about what happened and if you're leaving the Home."

Victor blinked and looked up to see Alice in the doorway, pillow and Mr. Bunny under arm. "And for what it's worth, the floor is also more uncomfortable than that mattress," she continued. "Which is a hard feat, but there you go."

Victor bit his lip, stomach knotting. "Alice, I – I am so s-sorry. I d-didn't really mean–"

"I know you didn't," Alice cut in, crossing over to the bed. "I've lived with you almost a year now, Victor. I'm well-acquainted with your tendency to say things you don't actually believe when you're angry." She plopped down with a sigh. "I'm sorry for storming out like that. And for pushing when you clearly didn't want to talk. It's just–" She knotted her fingers together atop Mr. Bunny's head. "Bloody hell, Victor, you _scared_ me. I haven't woken up to you _screaming_ since the night after Moorgate."

The guilt pooled in Victor's guts, sticky and hot. "I didn't mean to," he murmured, taking one of her hands and sandwiching it in his. "It was just – b-bad."

"I guessed that." Alice glanced at him. "I know I said that all you had to do was ask, and we'd leave you alone to sort things out, but. . .the whole _reason_ we started sharing a room was because of your nightmares. I don't – is there _nothing_ I can do?"

The pleading, the _pain_ in her voice. . .for a moment, all Victor wanted was to confess to everything, tell her what he'd dreamed, beg for her assistance in making it stop. Then he thought about how she'd sound after he did – the screaming, the epithets, the well-deserved fury. If she knew that he had anything in common with Bumby. . .to tell her was to lose her, and – God, he was too weak to let her go. That was why he hadn't insisted they stop sleeping together when the sickness had first manifested. She was, in a way, the source of his suffering – but she was also his main reason to push through it. He despised hurting her, but the truth would only be worse.

But. . .he didn't have to tell her the _whole_ truth, now did he? Not all of the nightmare immediately condemned him. If he was careful to – talk _around_ the worst bits. . . . "Y-you were in it," he murmured.

"Pardon?"

"In my dream," Victor explained, forcing himself to speak up. "Y-you were. . .y-you'd been. . .t-turned into a t-t-toy. A b-broken one."

Alice sucked in a horrified breath. "Oh. Ooooh." She rubbed her arms, as if ascertaining they were still flesh. "Was – _he_ in it too?"

Victor nodded. "And Ruin – e-everywhere. Leaking from – everywhere." He shivered, forcing back the image of the smashed maidenhood, the shattered arse. "Including my eyes, so. . . ."

"And when you woke up, you couldn't. . .oh, Victor." Alice wrapped him in an embrace. "I'm sorry. I should have never told you what the Dollmaker looked like."

"No, it's all right," Victor said, returning her hug. "If it wasn't the Ruin, it would be something else. Possibly something even worse." He tried to laugh. "B-better the devil I know t-than the devil I don't, right?"

"The ideal is no devils at all." Alice sighed. "But I guess that isn't really an option for us." She pulled back, stroking his cheek. "Me being here – doesn't make it worse, does it?"

"Not at all," Victor assured her. "I like being able to see that you're – you." He swallowed. "Please – d-don't tell Dr. Wilson? I don't know h-how he slept through this, but – it was h-hard enough telling you."

"I don't know how he slept through it either – but I won't," Alice promised. "Though I hope you'll be able to on your own, eventually."

_Fat chance of that if I want to keep anyone I care about –_ "We'll see," Victor hedged. "Hopefully t-that was the worst of it." _Oh, do I ever hope. . . ._

"Fingers crossed," Alice agreed, doing just that. "But if it isn't – what do you want me to do?"

"Just – be here, please," Victor said, twisting his hands together. Why did he have to ask this of her, why couldn't he fight his demons without a crutch. . .she was trying _so hard_ for him, and he couldn't even tell her what a wicked person she was promising her heart to. . . . "I'll – well, I can't promise I won't run next time. If it's a-another dream like that, I'll – I'll n-need a moment." He set his jaw, looking her in the face. "But I'll come back. And I won't l-leave you in the dark again. I can promise that much." _So long as I can keep from telling you how corrupted_ I _am._

"Sounds good to me." Alice put her pillow back next to his, then wrapped him in another embrace and pulled him down to the mattress. "He's dead," she whispered in his ear. "He's dead and gone and hopefully gotten whatever's coming to him Below. And those dreams will go away sooner or later." She kissed his cheek. "I love you, Victor. I believe in you. You can fight this off. And I'll always be here for you."

Victor smiled, warmed by her confidence, even as the guilt stabbed at his heart. "I love you too. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She ran her fingers through his hair. "Ready to try this sleep business again?"

"More than." He tucked his head atop hers as she snuggled into his chest. "Morning can't come soon enough."

"Mmmm. . .anything would be an improvement on this night." Alice leaned up briefly and pecked his lips – Victor forced himself to stay still. He'd hurt her enough for one night. "Good night, love."

"Good night." Victor watched as she drifted off, warm and comfortable against his body. Well, that had been rough. But at least they'd gotten through it. He smiled as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She was wonderful – so much better than he deserved. So understanding and forgiving. . .and beautiful –

Bile surged up his throat, and he quickly looked away. No. He couldn't look at her like that. Couldn't think of her like that. He screwed up his eyes in self-disgust. How awful not to want to think of your own girlfriend as beautiful! But until he conquered this sickness inside of him. . . .

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. That was something to worry about in the morning. Right now, he really needed to get some sleep. He settled his head against his pillow, allowing himself one last peek at her sleeping face. "I love you," he whispered, shutting his eyes. "And I don't want to hurt you."

God, he hoped he didn't.


	5. Unwelcoming Party

January 26th, 1876

Burtonsville, England

3:38 P.M.

_"Therefore, to assist in measuring, I propose the 'thaum' as the basic unit of magical energy. This would be the amount of energy necessary to cast the aptly-named 'Protection' spell, currently the simplest spell known to Western mages. Using this as a baseline, me and my colleagues have determined that the majority of the population possesses an average of 6.87528 thaums of magical energy – enough to fuel, depending on complexity and energy needs, between four to six low-level spells._

_"Now, as our esteemed Archchancellor pointed out during testing, this amount of magical energy should also be enough to allow the casting of a single mid-level spell. To put it in his own words, it is 'rather bloody ridiculous that a chap can't choose how many spells he wants to learn. If someone wants to waste all his potential on a bit of flash, let him!' While I agree this is strange, numerous experiments in the field of High-Energy Magic have proven that people cannot learn any spells that would cause them to exhaust their magical reserves all in one go. The spell simply fails instead. The underlying principle behind the expenditure of magical energy, therefore, seems to be one of_ maximization – _of encouraging magic users to learn the most spells possible with their amount of power. This appears to tie into my own theory that the production of magical energy is linked to the biological processes of the body – when interviewing subjects who have suffered burnout, the most commonly mentioned side effects mimic that of a mild case of stomach upset: headaches, nausea, lethargy. Forcing the mage to learn multiple low-level spells that chip away at their thaumic potential, instead of spending all their energy on one big spell, seems to lessen the strain using magic puts on the body and allows the mage to use magic more often. My colleague Adrian has suggested that it may be possible to enchant people as we do objects, and thus bypass such restrictions, but so far–"_

"Victor?"

Victor blinked rapidly, sitting up straight as something lightly prodded his arm. Turning his head revealed it to be Alice's finger. "Harland says we're almost there," she informed him, before nodding at his magazine. "You might want to put that away."

"Ah – right." Victor dog-eared a corner to mark his place, then reluctantly handed _Unseen University #11_ to Dr. Fixxler. "May as well not give Pastor Galswells any more reasons to yell at me."

"Does he even need an excuse at this point?" Dr. Fixxler inquired, taking the magazine and storing it in the little bag at his feet. "From what I've heard, the mere sight of you should be enough to send him into a rage."

"It amazes me how you even made it to adulthood with that man as a pastor," Alice agreed.

"Oh, he didn't always hate me," Victor said – then paused and considered that statement. "Well, not any more than he hated anyone else, anyway. We are all lowly sinners in his mind, doomed to the hellfire if not for his particular brand of salvation." He rolled his eyes. "When I was younger, it was easier to stay away from him. My parents weren't very involved in the church – we reported for sermons on Sunday and then left him to it. And I only had to spend two weeks at the parish day school before my parents hired my tutors."

"What was that like?"

". . .mildly terrifying," Victor admitted. "It didn't help that he's one of the tallest men in the village. Even with his hunch, he's _still_ taller than me today. Looking up at him as a very small Van Dort child. . .he made it into a lot of my daydreams as a terrible giant menacing the townsfolk."

"Ah." Alice smirked at him. "Another snack for your friend Blue Ben?"

"Only the once," Victor defended himself, though he couldn't help smiling. "Gordon Tannen was always my favorite target."

"Hmmm – wonder what he'll make of me," Dr. Fixxler mused, hand on his chin.

"In that boring gray suit, carrying a little black bag? He'll likely think you're just an ordinary doctor," Alice told him. "I can't see him cottoning on to your real profession."

"Wasn't really worried so much about that as – well. . . ." Dr. Fixxler held up his hand, wiggling his fingers. "Can't hide this part of me, can I? Unless I sacrifice a handkerchief."

"Ah. Right." Alice sighed. "Well, June's worst story involved the long-departed Everglots, not Galswells. Perhaps you'll get off lightly."

"It's not like I intend to go seeking him out, either," Victor added, frowning. "Or anyone else in the village, frankly. If any of them have something to say about the company I keep, they can say it in the privacy of their own homes. We're only here for a night, after all. They'll survive."

"And we're spending, what, an hour or two at _most_ inside the village walls?" Alice nodded. "Above ground, anyway. . . ." She glanced at Fixxler. "You're absolutely certain the spell only works after dark? I wouldn't mind skipping tea with Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort and just going straight to the Ball & Socket."

"I've tried – fizzled every time," Fixxler told her, pulling his bag onto his lap and drumming his fingers on it. "The Reader In Invisible Writings did an article on that too, actually – issue #13, natch. He thinks it's linked to the reason that everyone's able to use the spell on Halloween. We're so used to the idea of ghosts and ghouls and all other things that go bump doing so in the night that it's led to a natural thinning of the veil between living and dead once the sun sets. He said that a mage of sufficient power _might_ be able to force the issue, but it probably wouldn't last very long."

"Interesting – I'd love to read that one, if you still have it," Victor said, grinning. "The back issues you brought for the trip have been wonderful."

"Very informative – and amusing," Alice agreed, chuckling. "A shame we don't know any of their Christian names – I'd like to meet the Archchancellor. He has a pleasantly practical view on how best to use a magical staff."

"Oh, that any problem that cannot be solved by the magic in it can probably be put to rest by smacking it over the head with six feet of good solid oak?" Victor snorted. "Yes, I know. Too bad I don't have one of my own. It would be nice to give Pastor Galswells a taste of his own medicine."

The mirth drained from Alice's face. "Wait – Galswells _hit_ you?"

Uh-oh – it appeared he'd awoken her protective instincts. "Just the once – near the end of that wreck of a rehearsal," Victor told her, taking her hand and drawing circles on it with his thumb. "He was finally fed up with me not being able to remember any of my vows."

Alice frowned, eyes narrowed. "And he thought giving you a concussion would help with that?"

"It only hurt for an instant." He lightly rapped on his skull. "I think I gave myself a worse bruise when I slammed into that headstone fleeing from Emily."

"Headstone?" Fixxler repeated, arching an eyebrow. "I thought she was buried in the woods."

"The old cemetery's out there too – I ran right into it while trying to get away. Or, well, _fell_ into it – I forgot there was a hill partway through and tumbled right down the slope. I also ran headlong into a tree." He paused, then admitted sheepishly, "Twice."

Fixxler stared at him. "How hard _is_ your head?"

"Do you want my opinion, or my mother's?"

"He's almost indestructible," Alice informed Dr. Fixxler. "Either that or he's built up a lot of padding from walking into door frames and barking his shins on end tables."

" _You're_ the one who's indestructible," Victor said, squeezing her fingers. "Who else could wander all over London in a hallucinatory daze and barely suffer a scratch?"

"I did nearly drown in the Thames. And I required your help to escape the Mangled Mermaid fire."

"Perhaps, but – well. You told me once that the doctors at Littlemore thought you would be crippled for life after you got out of your burning house." He held up her hands and flexed them. "I think you've proved them pretty well wrong."

Alice smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Fair enough. I just wish my parents and Lizzie could have done so as well." She glanced at the floor of the carriage. "I wonder if they have any idea what's happened Upstairs since they've died."

"Books and newspapers _can_ appear Downstairs, under the right conditions," Fixxler told her. "And of course there's always new arrivals. I imagine they have some clue."

"Mmmm." Alice sighed. "I just wonder what picture it's all painted of me. Tailor and his _London Illustrated_ may have been largely complimentary, but others. . . ."

"They're your family," Victor said, taking her hand. "They'll know better than to listen to anyone like Dickenson. They _cannot_ hate you."

Alice squinted at him. "Forgive me for saying so, Victor, but – your parents don't seem to like you much."

"Why, Alice, whatever gave you that idea?" Victor deadpanned, which got a little snort of amusement out of her. "Trust me, I'll be the first to say we don't get along very well, but – I wouldn't go so far as to say they _hate_ me. If only because people who hated me wouldn't have gone through ten psychiatrists trying to cure me of my delusions. They would have just disowned me and been done with it." He frowned. "Which might have turned out better than what _actually_ happened, but you get my point."

"I do," Alice nodded. "The only reason I attempt any sort of politeness around your mother is because she _did_ seem genuinely horrified by Bumby's abuse." She leaned her head against Victor's shoulder. "You still deserve better parents, though."

"Well, at least I'll have very nice future in-laws," Victor said, smiling. "Ones who love their daughter no matter what."

Alice smiled back at him. "You're far too sweet."

Victor's heart went gooey. Even a year on, he still hadn't gotten over how pretty Alice's smile was. The bright sparkle in her eyes, the slight scrunch of her nose, the playful curve of her lips – it was a masterpiece. And he was likely never to get over the fact that he was responsible for most of them. That, of all the things in this world that could make her happy, he was at the top of the list. For a moment, he wished that Dr. Fixxler hadn't had to play chaperone, and that they could have made the trip here alone. It would have made it much easier to make up his mind about pulling her into an embrace. . .kissing her, warm and deep. . .maybe even slipping a hand underneath her blouse. . . .

_**Right here in the carriage, Thirteen? Your lusts are insistent indeed.** _

Victor winced, the images dissolving away into mist – as well they should. _And that's why you should be glad Dr. Fixxler's here,_ he scolded himself, turning his gaze toward the window. _To stop you from doing anything that you'd regret later. Damn it, why do I keep having those awful thoughts? I can't waste my energy beating down that part of me that doesn't understand what love is. I need all my mental strength to deal with Mother and Father._ He shivered slightly. _I can only imagine how horrified they'd be if they knew about those thoughts. They probably_ would _disown me then. Their son, looking at his almost-fiancee like a piece of meat. . .or worse. . .you are_ better _than that, Van Dort._

_**Are you?**_ Bumby's voice whispered from its corner.

Victor tightened his jaw. _YES. Now shut up and leave me alone._

"Are you all right?"

Victor looked back to see both Fixxler and Alice watching him with concern. "Bad thought," he told them simply – it _was_ the truth.

"Ah – like when a Jabberspawn suddenly appears in the Vale of Tears?" Victor nodded. Alice rubbed his hand. "Bloody annoying, aren't they? If you haven't wrestled them into submission by the time we take our Wonderland trip, I might spend a bit of it teaching you the best way to stab those in the gullet. Just in case it helps."

Victor pictured stabbing his Vorpal Fork into Bumby again and again and again, rendering him little more than a pile of meat and gore. He grinned maliciously. "Mmmm – I'll have to remember that the next time one pops into my head."

Fixxler eyed him. "Well, there's a good hint as to why the bastards of the East End don't give you much lip. I didn't realize anyone's smile could look that – disturbing."

Victor blushed, looking at the carriage floor. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. . .I'll try not to think of such things once we're in Burtonsville. The villagers have a low enough opinion of me."

"At least we're all outcasts together," Alice said, patting his back. "The demon spawn, the known madwoman, and the black man who's secretly a magician."

"That doesn't really make me feel better. . . ." Victor glanced behind them. "Do you suppose it's too late to turn around and go to Oxford first instead?"

"You actually want another five days on the road?" Alice asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You actually want to have tea with my mother?"

". . .Maybe we can turn around."

"No, it's officially too late," Fixxler reported, peering out the window. "We're coming up to the village wall right now."

Victor took his own look. Sure enough, the old stone wall with its wide pointed arch and barred gates was approaching fast. He swallowed as they _clip-clopped_ up to it. Funny how a sight he'd grown up with could now inspire such dread in him.

Alice squeezed his arm. "We'll survive," she assured him. "We've gotten through much worse."

"Yes. . .except we're not allowed to punch anyone this time," Victor muttered. "Or shove them in front of a train."

"That does limit our options, yes. But we'll still make it." She leaned in. "Just remember – you're the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel. The man who officially beat Jack Splatter. What a tiny little village in the middle of nowhere thinks is of no consequence."

Victor smiled, sitting up a little straighter. "Right. Thanks. Though you'll forgive me if I don't go advertising that I feuded with a pimp here."

"We probably should keep that to ourselves, yes."

There was a man loitering by the gates as they pulled up, reading a magazine and smoking a cigar. He looked up as Harland climbed down. "Oh – afternoon, Harland," he said, sticking his periodical under his arm. "Back from your adventures? Mayhew never tried running away as much as you do!"

"If only I could _stay_ away," Harland replied with a little laugh. "But then I wouldn't get paid. . .what are you doing out here, anyway, Michael?"

"Volunteering as gate guard," Michael replied, taking a deep suck from his cigar. He exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke – Victor's nose wrinkled. "Making sure no undesirables get in."

"Well, I'm afraid to say you've failed. Mr. Van Dort's son has come back home for the evening."

Michael blinked. "What? Master Van Dort's _back_?" he said, craning his head for a look in the carriage window. "After–"

"Yes – tea with the family," Harland confirmed. "With his lady friend and their chaperone."

"Lady friend?! Blow me down, the Van Dorts actually found someone willing to marry him?"

Alice scowled at the guard through the window as Victor winced. "They didn't, but he did," she informed him, making him jump.

"Yeah, it's all tied up in that bad business up in Whitechapel with that doctor and the titchy ones," Harland explained. "Kind of a long story. . .at any rate, they're expected for tea, and if I'm late Mrs. Van Dort will have my head."

"Don't want that," Michael said. "All right – but on your head be it if anything – _interesting_ happens." He motioned Harland back into his seat, then disappeared around in front of the horse. A minute later, a loud _sc_ _creaaaaak_ signaled the gates were open. "And pop back here once you've got them settled and tell me all about it, will you? Know the town crier will have the juicy bits soon enough, but I want the whole thing."

"I will," Harland promised, clambering back up. "See you in a bit, Michael!"

And then, with a snap of the reins, they were trotting their way into the village. Alice gave Michael another dark look as they passed. "'Willing to marry him,'" she muttered. "Right in front of us, too. What gives him the right? And Harland implying you're an undesirable! Even if it was a joke. . .I'm no paragon of manners, I admit, but I know rude when I see it."

"I told you before they don't like me here," Victor reminded her. "And my failed engagement to Victoria was big news – whenever the crier wasn't talking about my damnation, he was on about that." He grimaced, remembering the constant ringing beneath his window. "It got to the point where I was about ready to take his bell and throw it in the river. The village probably decided that, after losing my chance at a viscountess and being condemned by the pastor, I was never going to find a wife."

"What about that whole business with Adelaide Kingsleigh that you told me about?" Fixxler asked. "From the picture you've painted of your mother, I can't see her hiding the fact that she wrote to her parents asking for her hand."

"No, but that ended with her having to write back and explain she'd been mistaken and that I was already in love with someone else," Victor replied, taking Alice's hand. "That likely just convinced everyone. And given I don't know what she's been saying about Alice and her 'connections. . . .' Dear, I think the people here are going to be very surprised you actually exist."

"Maybe, maybe not – someone might make the connection between me and the Alice Liddell from that famous fire." Alice bit her lip. "I just hope they know more about me saving the children from Bumby than they do about my time in the asylum."

"We're pretty isolated," Victor assured her. "I don't think the worst of it could have reached their ears."

"I guess we'll see what happens when the town crier catches a glimpse of me." Alice looked out the window at the passing streets. "Dear me, so many houses piled so close together! Even back in Whitechapel we have a bit more breathing room than this. And not a speck of color on any of them!"

"I did warn you," Victor said, amused.

"Forgive me for thinking you were exaggerating – though, after seeing you and Victoria, I should have guessed you were sincere," she admitted, nodding at his bone-white skin. "A shame she declined to come along. You would have liked her, Dr. Fixxler. She's very nice."

"There will be other opportunities," Fixxler said with a careless wave of his hand. "So long as I never have to meet her parents."

"She's implied she doesn't talk to them more than is strictly necessary these days," Victor told him. "And she wouldn't stand for Lord Everglot pointing a gun at you. None of us would." He sighed, glancing out at a stray cat nosing through some trash in a tiny alley. "I would have liked to have seen her and Christopher again, but – I can't blame her for not wanting to come back. This place has nothing but bad memories for her. Honestly, if it wasn't for paying my respects to Emily and visiting the Land of the Dead, I don't think I'd be here either."

Alice took his hand. "Only a couple of hours," she reiterated.

"I know. It's about all any of us can take, I think."

"I'm already quite sick of seeing nothing but gray everywhere," Alice nodded, frowning as they passed another dull house. "Has Burtonsville completely forgotten what color _is_?"

"There's bits and pieces here and there, but. . .my personal theory is that it's all been washed away by the rain and absorbed by the Land of the Dead," Victor added. "Wait until you see the village square down there. It's practically ablaze with purples and greens and pinks."

"I'll look forward to it. Anything to break up this monotony."

They rounded a corner, and suddenly the street opened up, revealing the still-very-gray Burtonsville town square. Victor looked around as they clopped past the clock shop, the grocery, and the fish stall. "So strange to see them all again after so long," he murmured. "Not a patch on the Whitechapel market, is it?"

"Certainly a lot smaller." Alice smirked as they rounded the founder's statue and came to a stop at the front steps of the Van Dort mansion. "Oh dear – _nothing_ stops your father from advertising, does it?"

"Huh? Oh," Victor said, following her gaze to the fish statues on either side of the stairs. "Well, to be fair, the Van Dorts have been in fish for years, even before his idea for the cannery. He's very proud of his origins."

"Must drive your mother up the wall."

"She'd prefer it if we'd made our fortune from something less slimy and smelly, yes," Victor admitted with a tiny grin. "It could be worse, though – the carriage has roll-down advertisements. I'm a little surprised Father didn't have Harland pull them out while we were on the road. Unless he didn't want anyone associating _me_ with Van Dort Fish," he added in sour tones.

"Considering there's a fish bouncing away on the top of this conveyance, I'd say he didn't quite think that through," Alice replied. She took a deep breath and clapped her hands. "Right. Tea with Nell Van Dort. Let's get this over with."

"With pleasure," Victor said, opening his door and stepping out.

To find what looked like half the village staring at him.

Victor froze, hand still on the door handle. Most of the faces were familiar – Mr. Shallots, the greengrocer; Mr. and Mrs. Ticker, the clock maker and his wife; Bart, the heavy lifter at the Van Dort shop. People he'd known all his life. Who'd been kind to him, or at least not treated him with anything worse than mild indifference.

Now, though – now their eyes with hard with judgment, mouths turned down in severe frowns. "And just what do you think _you're_ doing here?" one woman near the front demanded, folding her arms.

"Visiting," Victor said, finally letting go of the door. _It's fine_ _, Victor._ _It's not like the East End. These people wouldn't dare start anything._ A glint of light caught his eye, and he glanced over to see Bart holding his heavy cleaver, still dripping fish guts. He swallowed. _I hope._

"Visiting," the woman repeated, voice full of scorn. "Who on earth would want _you_ to visit them?"

"My parents?" Victor pointed at the mansion. "I'm here for tea."

"Hmph – if the Van Dorts had any sense, they'd disown you," Mr. Shallots declared, shaking a carrot at him. "Before you went around terrorizing more innocent people."

"Oh, I don't think there's any chance of _that_." Victor turned his head to see Alice slide across the seat before hopping out of the carriage. "I don't see any innocent people around here."

There was a communal intake of breath. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" Mr. Ticker demanded, his wife glaring at Alice like she was worth less than the dust underfoot.

"I've heard the story too," Alice replied, unruffled. "From Victor's own lips. And according to his account, you're all guilty of the same debauchery he is – associating with the risen dead."

The mood of the crowd shifted, anger cooling into awkwardness. "He – he did something to our heads," the woman from before claimed. "Cast wicked spells to make us think the monsters he was summoning were our friends and family. Pastor Galswells says so."

"And you just automatically believe whatever he says?"

"He's the pastor!" Mrs. Ticker gasped, affronted. "He gets his authority direct from God! Who are you to question him?"

"Alice Liddell," Alice introduced herself, dropping a mocking curtsy. "Whom the Reverend Mottle once declared felt nothing in the wake of my own family's death, so you'll forgive me if I don't always believe the clergy knows what they're talking about."

A disapproving grumble swept through the citizenry. "Our Galswells has a firm moral center," the first woman insisted. "Whoever that Mottle was, he of course knows better."

Mr. Shallots squinted at Alice, expression intrigued. "Liddell?" he asked, tucking his carrot in his apron pocket. "I've heard that name. . .you're the one who saved all those orphans, aren't you?"

Alice blinked. "Ah – yes, actually," she said, unable to keep the happy surprise out of her voice. Victor couldn't blame her – he'd fully expected Mr. Shallots to bring up the fire himself. _Well, at least_ she's _not going to be slandered_ _,_ he thought, taking what pleasure from it he could. _If anyone deserves the hero's treatment, it's her._ "Mrs. Van Dort's probably mentioned me – I'm Victor's girlfriend."

Mr. Shallots raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She nodded. " _Why_?"

Alice's face darkened. "Because I love him?"

"Oh no, what have you done to _this_ poor child?" Mrs. Ticker demanded, glaring at Victor.

"He's done _nothing_ to me," Alice said, voice cold. "I fell in love all on my own. If you know what happened at Houndsditch, you'll know Victor helped expose Bumby too. And suffered terribly in the aftermath."

"If he suffered, it was his punishment for dabbling in the dark arts," the first woman snapped. "He probably deserved worse."

The words slapped Victor across the face, leaving a soul-deep sting. _**Yes. . .see how they condemn you already?**_ a dark voice whispered inside his head. _**They've got a hint of the kind of person you are. What would they say if they knew the full truth? That you're not a necromancer, but something far worse?**_

_I_ _am neither!_ Victor snapped back. _I still have control, and you will not take it from me! Especially not now!_

Alice, by contrast, seemed right on the verge of losing control. She stepped forward, hands balled into tight fists, teeth gritted to the point of creaking, and eyes practically aflame. Victor got the feeling that she was moments away from a Ragebox-fueled roar, or a Hysterical scream. "How. Dare. You," she hissed.

The woman faltered, and retreated a bit, glancing at the crowd for backup. They moved in a little closer around her. "How dare _you_!" she shouted, bolstered by the help. "You can see the evil in that awful Bumby, but not when it stands by your side? My Gordon always knew he was a rotter! Gave him everything he deserved!"

"Gordon – Mrs. Tannen?" Victor gasped, suddenly recognizing the woman. "Oh my. . .your son made my childhood a living nightmare!"

"And you made our lives one when you dragged that corpse out of the ground!" Mrs. Tannen shot back. "You're despicable!"

"You don't know the meaning of the word," Alice growled. "Do you know how thrilled I would have been, in your place? To see my parents and sister again?"

"They wouldn't have been your family," Mr. Shallots told her, taking out his carrot for emphasis. "Just demons, in familiar shapes."

Victor's jaw tightened. "I'm sure your wife would be just thrilled to hear that, Mr. Shallots."

The carrot hit the cobbles. "Don't – don't you talk about my Ethel," Mr. Shallots said, voice trembling. "You haven't the right."

It was on the tip of Victor's tongue to say he had more right than Shallots himself, given he wasn't accusing her of being one of the Devil's legion – but he swallowed the words back. Trading jibes and insults with these people was getting him nowhere. And he could see poor Dr. Fixxler peering out from the carriage from the corner of his eye, looking more and more anxious about his chances of exiting unmolested. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't want any trouble," he said, taking Alice's arm to stop her ripping anyone's head off. "I'm just here for tea with my parents. That's all. I will be gone by tomorrow morning. I don't intend to make a scene." He glanced back at the great double doors of the mansion. "Unless you make me late. So if you don't mind–"

_SPLAT!_

Victor jerked backward as his vision abruptly went brown. Slowly, he reached up and ran his fingers across his face. They came back caked with mud. "Shove off back to where you belong!" an unseen figure shouted. "We don't want your kind here!"

"Necromancer! Lover of the dead!" Mrs. Ticker agreed, pointing a finger.

"What if poor Pastor Galswells sees you here? You'll drive the man into his grave!" Mrs. Tannen cried, clutching her hands to her chest.

"He probably wants that so he can use the corpse as his puppet!" Mr. Shallots accused, retrieving his carrot. "Just like my poor Ethel!"

"Demon!"

"Monster!"

"Drive him out!"

"Throw him in the cells!"

"Send him back to that precious Land of the Dead of his!"

"HEAR YE, HEAR YE! VICTOR VAN DORT RETURNS TO BURTONSVILLE! MOB FORMS IN TOWN SQUARE! MASTER VAN DORT INCITING RIOTOUS BEHAV–"

" _OH SHUT UP_ _YOU RATBAG_ _!_ "

The town crier froze mid-ring, eyes wide. "And the rest of you can do the same!" Victor roared, turning on the startled crowd. "I have _never_ met such a horrid group of podsnappery – you think more of _Barkis_ than you do of me, don't you? The confirmed _murderer_ gets more respect! You're willing to go along with whatever _nonsense_ Galswells shoves down your throats to make your lives easier! You make me _ashamed_ to be from this village! Toast your blooming eyebrows, the lot of you!"

The mob backed up a few steps, with the occasional whispered "ow" or "watch it!" as they stumbled over each other's feet. "We – we just–" Mrs. Tannen started, her bravado giving way to fright.

" _Just what?_ " Victor growled, moving forward with fists clenched. _Go ahead, you vile creature, say one more word to me. And i_ _f I find the bastard who threw that mud. . . ._

Alice caught his sleeve. "Victor – they're not worth it," she said softly. "They're awful people, yes, but not quite on the same level as Old Amos and Paltry Pete."

"Who?" Mr. Ticker asked, despite himself. His wife shot him a look to shut his mouth.

Alice gave him a shark smile. "Two of Bumby's associates, who foolishly chose to attack us one night. Victor put out the eye of the former with a drawing quill."

Victor wondered if Alice's real reason for stopping him was so she could share that tidbit with the crowd. A wave of shocked looks and worried whispering swept through the citizenry. Slowly, everyone began shuffling away from Mrs. Tannen, leaving her exposed. "We – we just want a safe village," she said shakily. "That's all."

_Oh, is that why you were insinuating you might kill me just now?_ flashed through Victor's brain. He forced himself to ignore it. Alice was right – they weren't worth it. None of them, rude and horrible as they were, held a candle to Jack Splatter, and he'd felt guilty enough going after _him_. Not to mention he wasn't interested in seeing if any of them had the wherewithal to follow through on their earlier threats. "And you'll have it," he said, pressing down on the air before him with his hands. "I told you – I am here for tea with my parents. That's all. If you let me go inside, none of you need see me for the rest of the day. I promise, I will be gone by breakfast-time tomorrow. And I will not come back." He sighed deeply. "I don't want to be here any more than any of you want me here."

There was a moment's silence. "Master Van Dort on brief family visit?" the crier offered up with a tentative ring of his bell.

"And mob breaks up and goes about its own business," Alice nodded in her best "you children are going to do what I say and no mistake" voice.

The crowd gratefully fractured back up into individual people, hurrying away to shops and stalls and not making eye contact. Mrs. Tannen alone lingered. "Don't you come near my family," she said, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to look brave. "Especially not my Gordon."

"Mrs. Tannen – the day I willingly visit your son is the day you can be sure I've had my brain replaced with a haddock," Victor replied.

Mrs. Tannen risked one last glare, then darted away to safety. Victor pressed his hand against his face. "Ugh. . .I think you can come out now, Dr. Fixxler," he said through his palm. "I am so sorry about this."

"Not your fault," Dr. Fixxler assured him, finally stepping out of the carriage. "I'm sorry I didn't try to help. Just – the way they were going on, I wasn't sure they'd appreciate someone like me pleading your case." He scratched his head under his hat. "First time I've ever heard 'We don't want your kind here' applied to a _white_ man."

Victor winced. "I hope I didn't bring up too many unpleasant memories."

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before. And I've heard Northerners back in the States don't think much of the Irish, so maybe I shouldn't be that surprised." Fixxler frowned around the square. "We should pick June up a present before we go back to London."

"We should," Victor agreed. "Growing up here was bad enough as the son of the richest man in the village. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for her, outside the gates."

"With people like that inside them, perhaps she should be a touch grateful," Alice said, patting his shoulder. "Though, yes, I think a 'Burtonsville is awful and we're sorry you were stuck being born there' gift would be appreciated." She eyed his stained skin with concern. "You're all right?"

"As much as I can be," Victor replied, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping off his face. "I suppose I should just be happy they threw mud and not rocks. I really didn't. . .they were _cold_ before, but they never. . . ."

"You've been gone the better part of a year – Galswells probably took the opportunity to paint you as an even worse demon than before," Alice told him. "And even if he didn't, I'm all too aware of how well imaginations can run wild. . . ." She leaned up against him. "None of this was your fault."

She was entirely too good at reading him. "I – I probably shouldn't have yelled like that," he mumbled, going over his nose a second time. "I can't believe I got away with calling the town crier a ratbag."

"I would have said worse – and nearly did, before you stopped me," Alice said. "I think you handled that pretty well. If it had just been me, someone's head might have ended up through the nearest shop window."

"Oh, I was tempted for a moment. . . ." Victor shook his head, then glanced across the square, at the empty shell of the Everglot mansion. "It's a good thing Victoria didn't come. I worry what they might have said to _her._ "

"The former nobility who never did end up marrying you and now has a respectable ex-military husband? Probably not much," Alice pointed out. "The real danger would have been stopping _her_ from doing something rash. Though, if we've had her and Christopher on our side, maybe we could have taken them."

Victor laughed, though there wasn't much humor in it. "I'm trying to _avoid_ a repeat of the Jack Splatter incident, Alice."

"Judging by her attitude, I think Mrs. Tannen could do with a bit of strangling." Alice touched his arm. "I wouldn't say you let your temper run wild there. Frankly, I think you were rather restrained. 'Podsnappery' isn't the word I would have used to describe that crowd."

"It was the first one to come to mind," Victor said. "But thank you. I really am trying to keep it under control." _And thank God none of them are the kind to use the word "cocksucker."_

"Well, now that they know you can stick a drawing quill through a man's eye, hopefully none of them will bother us again," Dr. Fixxler commented.

"Right. Fingers crossed." Victor gave his face one last wipe, then looked between Fixxler and Alice. "How do I look?"

Alice scrunched up her nose. "There's still a little dirt clinging to your cheeks. . .and a few spots on your collar."

"Lovely. Well, nothing I can do about it now." Victor folded up his hanky as best he could, turning toward the Van Dort mansion. "Come on, everyone. At least the worst horrors we should face in here are sardines on toast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything to do with Unseen University is a shout-out to the wizards of Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ , of which I am a huge fan. I hope my little excerpt of the magazine there did his characters justice!


	6. A More Irritating Than Anything Tea Party

January 26th, 1876

Burtonsville, England

4:02 P.M.

One _clooooong_ of the bell-pull later, the front door opened, revealing Barry in all his black-suited glory. "Master Van Dort," he said with a coolly polite nod. His eyes flicked from Alice to Fixxler. "And guests."

"Miss Alice Liddell and Dr. Jeremiah Fixxler," Victor introduced them. Alice curtsied while Fixxler offered a short bow. "I assume my parents are waiting for me?"

"In the east drawing room," Barry confirmed. His eyes flicked over Victor's dirt-stained face. "I assume you wish to visit the washroom first, however."

"Please," Victor nodded. He tugged his handkerchief back out."And could I please get a clean one of these?"

Barry took it and tucked it into a pocket. "I'll give this to the laundress and fetch you a new one," he promised, before stepping aside. "Please, come in."

"Thank – oh." Alice blinked as she crossed the threshold, eyes widening as she came face to face with Nell's decorative new-money chaos in all its glory. "Oh my." She turned in a half-circle, gawking at the heavy chandelier creaking from the ceiling, the forest of paintings crowding every wall, and the veritable army of vases and figurines marching across fields of end tables. "And Mama accused Papa of leaving no room left to walk in the library!"

"Mother is absolutely determined we be seen as the equal of any noble family," Victor said with a little sigh. "How she manages to cram in anything new for the latest fad is beyond me."

"Haven't seen a house like this since I left the Alabama plantations," Fixxler declared, a little of his natural accent slipping in as he stared. "Your parents would probably fit in just fine with the cotillion lot."

Victor scratched the back of his neck. ". . .sorry?"

Fixxler chuckled. "As long as they don't crack a whip at me, we'll be fine."

"The washroom is just down this way," Barry said, pattering past them toward a gilt-edged door. He paused and looked back. "Unless any of you require the toilet?"

"Much as I would love to see the famous Van Dort flushing loo, I'm fine," Alice told him.

"We already stopped for the facilities before arriving," Dr. Fixxler confirmed, holding up a hand. "Thanks anyway."

"Very well then. Follow me, if you would."

As Victor had already guessed, the washroom Barry led them to was the Grecian one. Alice peeked in the door as Victor prepared to go inside. "I haven't seen a room this white since I dreamed I was back in Rutledge," she commented, wrinkling her nose at the tiles. "And is that a little Trojan Horse on the shelf over the sink?"

"When Mother latches onto a style, she goes all-out," Victor told her. "We'll probably have an Egyptian room soon enough." He shuddered. "I just hope she doesn't paint it with that awful mummy pigment. And we call the people in Africa barbaric."

"Probably best not to mention _that_ practice in the Land of the Dead," Alice agreed. She patted Victor's back. "We'll wait out here."

"Thank you – I shouldn't be long." Victor closed the door and turned on the taps, splashing his face. _At least here I'm guaranteed a few minutes of hot water,_ he thought, retrieving the soap and starting to scrub. He squinted against the reflection of the lamps against the tile. _Though Alice is right – it's entirely too white in here. How did I_ stand _this growing up? I feel like I'm in bloody hospital._ He rinsed the soap off, then carefully dabbed at the spots on his collar. _Good thing I don't ever have to see it again after today. The sooner this tea is over with, the better._

After a couple of minutes, he gave the collar up as lost – it would probably please Nell to complain about it anyway. He dried himself off and reemerged, nodding at Alice. "Want to wash your hands?"

"I suppose I should," Alice said, passing him. "Gives Barry a moment to fetch your hanky."

"Indeed – I will return momentarily," Barry declared, puttering off.

Dr. Fixxler watched him go. "I swear, if you're not born stiff as a starched shirt, you can't be a butler," he commented.

"Well, he does have to deal with my parents. . .he wasn't this – _formal_ with me before, though," Victor admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "None of the servants were. Mayhew in particular tried to get me out of my shell. Had my first drink of ale and first puff of a pipe thanks to him."

"How did that go?"

"I got horrendously drunk and made an idiot of myself, and spent the rest of the day coughing up my lungs and wondering how _anyone_ could take up smoking," Victor said, rolling his eyes. "So, not well."

Fixxler chuckled. "Well, I'm not sold on the joys of tobacco myself. Perhaps one day I'll be able to convince you to try a bit of brandy, though."

"Only if you don't mind me trying to tell you my entire life story twice over."

"That would be quite the feat, given all that's happened in your life," Alice said, reappearing at the door. "All yours if you want it, Dr. Fixxler. . .just so you know, in our future house, we're not having any rooms that are all white," she added as Fixxler disappeared inside the washroom.

"I'm fine with that," Victor assured her, his stomach twisting in a not-entirely-unpleasant way at the words "our future house." On the one hand, it was a frightening prospect – one entire house, for him and Alice, all alone! Why, they could barely handle the chores at Houndsditch with June's help. (Although learning Scrub & Shine as a spell _had_ made things a lot easier. . . .) And then there was the matter of all the little expenses that came with a house – laundry bills, food bills, gardeners, maids, drivers. Not to mention dealing with a whole new set of neighbors. At least in Whitechapel people knew to leave him alone these days. What if they ended up next door to someone exactly like his mother? They'd never be able to leave the house for fear of getting ambushed by feathery hats and society gossip.

On the other hand. . .one entire house, for him and Alice, all alone. A chance to have some real privacy that wasn't just a few minutes on the loo. An actual music room and art room. A library with shelves packed full of books. A dining room with windows open to the outside. A bedroom with wallpaper that stayed on the wall, and their pictures in proper frames, and a big cushy bed, where they could –

Victor quickly pulled his imaginings back from the brink, just out of reach of the groping dark tendrils. _Bad Victor,_ he scolded himself. _It's a nice dream, but that's all it'll be unless you get your thoughts under control. No thinking of beds until you think of them_ only _for their intended purpose. Alice is kindly giving you this time to fix yourself – now do it!_

Fortunately, Barry chose this moment to reappear, fresh handkerchief in hand. "For you, Master Van Dort."

"Thank you, Barry." Victor tucked the hanky into his coat pocket. "So, um – how have you been? I haven't seen you in almost a year."

"I'm fine, Master Van Dort," Barry replied. "Helping to keep the household in order, as usual." He clasped his hands together and tilted his head back, regarding Victor down the length of his nose. "Nothing – _untoward_ has happened since your departure."

Ah – right. Barry _had_ been only too willing to say he hadn't seen anything to keep his position. Had looked at him that fateful morning with fear in his eyes. And after months of having Pastor Galswells insist he was demon spawn. . .Victor's desire to catch up faded. "Glad to hear it," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "I'm sorry for what happened outside. I promise you won't have any more trouble from me – either during this visit or after it."

Barry nodded slightly. "Very good, Master Van Dort."

Dr. Fixxler finished his washing-up shortly thereafter, and the group finally proceeded to the east drawing room. As promised, Nell and William were waiting for them there – Nell upon "The Throne" as usual, William sitting opposite in a slightly smaller armchair. Between them lay a vast array of food, along with the family's finest china tea service. A nervous-looking maid stood by Nell's elbow with the teapot, ready to pour. Barry knocked on the door frame before stepping inside. "Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort – your son, Miss Alice Liddell, and Dr. Jeremiah Fixxler," he announced, nodding at each guest in turn.

Nell scowled at them, arms folded. "You're late," she said without preamble. "We moved tea to four _especially_ for you. What's the point if you keep us waiting?"

"We heard a commotion outside a couple of minutes ago," William added. "Something happen?"

"The other villagers decided to set up an unwelcoming party for your son," Alice said, offering a little curtsy.

Nell and William shared a puzzled look. "Unwelcoming party?" she echoed.

"It's like an unbirthday party, but far less pleasant. Involves more mud-throwing than present-giving."

"I had to wash up, Mother," Victor confirmed. "They're weren't happy to see me at all."

Nell's gaze grew steely. "You didn't do anything – _odd_ , did you?"

Victor had thought he'd gotten his temper under control, but the way she said "odd" sent it tugging at the leash. "No," he snapped, voice sharp as Alice's Vorpal Blade. "All I did was get out of the carriage and tell them we were visiting. They started throwing things all on their own."

"Well, you _can_ be provoking at times–"

"If you're just going to sit there and insult us, we'll leave right now," Alice cut in, folding her arms. Her eyes traveled down to the waiting spread. "Which would be a shame, as you seem to have quite a lot of good food here."

"Quite right," William said, waving an arm. "Whatever happened when you arrived, it's all over and done with. Come, sit down! Belle needs to pour before the tea gets cold."

On instinct, Victor made a beeline to his old spot on the sofa. He had to admit, Alice was right – his mother _had_ laid out a very expansive and delicious-looking tea. At one end was a platter of cucumber sandwiches; at the other, a matching pile of egg and cress. A silver serving tower stood proud in the middle of the table, stacked high with small Victoria sponges, chocolate fairy cakes, and slices of Battenberg cake. Around it were plates of fresh-sliced bread and warm crumpets, each with a little butter dish. There were also scones, parked next to tiny bowls of clotted cream. And yes, right in front of William, sat a saucer of sardines and a stack of toast, which his father was happily combining on his plate. Victor decided to forgo the part of the meal that was staring at him and instead picked up a scone. "It all looks very nice, Mother," he said, breaking it apart and spreading on some clotted cream.

Nell nodded imperiously. "I told Preston to make a bit more than usual," she said, waving a hand as Alice and Fixxler took their places next to Victor. Belle sprang into action, filling the cups with practiced efficiency. "After all, it's got to hold us for two hours longer."

"I think we'll be all right," William declared, grinning. "Shame I can't leave the cannery this early every day, but. . . ." He shrugged and took a bite of toast, looking over at Fixxler. "So – Dr. Fixxler, eh?" he said once he'd finished chewing. "Doctor of what?"

"Alternative medicines," Dr. Fixxler replied smoothly, stowing his bag under the sofa's arm before taking some bread and butter. "I studied herbs and other natural remedies in the States. I run my own shop in London now."

Nell eyed him. "I didn't think Americans were keen on – well – your sort studying things."

"Most of them aren't," Fixxler confirmed. "I was fortunate enough to live in the same town as a rich white woman who considered it her 'moral duty' to teach me and the other boys how to read. So we could study the Bible, of course, but I expanded my literary horizons a bit."

"Oh, like that Progressive Women's Club I've heard about over in Oxford?" Nell sniffed as she bit into a cucumber sandwich. "Hmph. I suppose there's nothing wrong with reading poor children books every so often, but they don't keep it to that, do they? No, they have to make spectacles of themselves, crying out about poverty and disease and demanding the vote. It's so gauche."

"My mother used to belong to that club," Alice said, smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at her.

Nell choked slightly on her sandwich. "Ah – ahem – did – did she? Well, er, I'm sure it was much, um, nicer when she was a part of it," she recovered, patting her breastbone. "But you must admit, they do have some strange ideas. Do you know, I heard one of them once took a Punch and Judy man to task for promoting 'family violence!' Can you believe that? Getting so worked up over a puppet show?"

"Yes – Mother always had strong opinions," Alice replied, smile taking on a sad edge. She took a piece of sponge cake as Nell stared. "And honestly, I wouldn't call some ill-tempered man beating up his defenseless wife quality entertainment myself. Certainly not after living in the East End. Many of the children there know all too well how long the bruises take to fade."

"Oh, it's just all in fun," William said carelessly, finishing off his toast. "No need to overthink it. You can't take life too seriously."

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Has Pastor Galswells ever heard you express that sentiment?"

"Well, ah, just between you and me – I think he's a little – uptight," William confessed in a stage whisper. "Excellent preacher, of course, good strong moral head and shoulders, pillar of the community – but he can get a tad obsessed with rooting out sin."

 _Where on earth was this attitude when you were shoving psychiatrist after psychiatrist at me?_ Victor wondered, angry words lining up on his tongue. He pushed them back with a bite of his scone. "You didn't tell _him_ I was visiting today?" he asked once he'd swallowed it all down. Galswells coming around for another go at him was the last thing he needed.

"No, no, we kept it quiet – didn't even hint about it to the crier," William assured him. "Didn't want him exhausting himself yelling at you. I know it's been a year, but he still hasn't quite recovered from the – mess."

"Very kind of you," Victor muttered, staring at the floor.

"You sending around that stonemason didn't help," Nell said, waving Belle back over. "Hand me the platter of egg and cress – the poor pastor caught him going into the woods with that hunk of marble, and the fellow didn't even have the sense to lie about what he was doing," she continued as she piled sandwiches on her plate. "All we heard for the whole time he was here was 'sacrilege' this and 'bride of Satan' that." She pointed a sandwich at Victor. "You see – provoking! Why is it so important this 'Emily' have a gravestone?"

"You'd want one if you were murdered, wouldn't you?" Victor snapped, digging his fingers into his scone. "You haven't listened to a damned thing I've said on the subject, have you?"

"Language, Victor! This isn't the East End!"

Victor ignored her. "The whole reason you had to go through ten psychiatrists in your attempt to 'cure' me was because I wanted to make sure she was _remembered_! What better way than a gravestone?"

"For a–"

" _She was not a delusion!_ "

Nell jerked away, dropping her sandwich. "Don't believe me about her rising – I've given up on that," Victor continued, forcing himself to keep it to a respectable volume. "But we _know_ Lord Barkis, or whatever his actual name was, was a murderer. A _policeman_ told us all so. And Victoria, back when I was still recovering, told us a story her mother told her to discourage her from ever learning the piano – about a passionate young lady who 'eloped' and was never heard from again. Emily Cartwell. Didn't you ever hear of her?"

"Cartwell. . . ." Nell screwed up her face, contemplating as she chewed through a crumpet. "There was a family by that name in the village ages and ages ago, wasn't there, William?"

"Yes. . .father and daughter," William confirmed, rubbing his chin. "And – come to think of it – I do remember, around the time we were courting, the crier going around with a story of a girl disappearing with half the family fortune and her father being distraught."

"Ah – no wonder I don't remember. I had rather more important things on my mind then." Nell turned a frown on Fixxler. "What do you make of this 'corpse bride' business? Aren't you lot all about the vu-duh and the mysticism and suchlike?"

Fixxler's expression suggested he wished he could be more insulted, but his profession forbid. "It's 'voodoo,' and that's mostly in the Caribbean," he said. "Which I've never visited. And as for mysticism. . .well, I wouldn't say I have any more interest in that than the average person in London. Your pastor may decry it all as Satan's work, but in the city, people are actually rather interested in talking to the dead."

"He's right," Alice put in. "We've seen more than one ad for mediums stuck up on buildings. And every carnival there has at least one fortune-teller."

William and Nell shared a gobsmacked look. "Really?" William said, shaking his head. "And – nobody considers it – sacrilegious?"

"Oh, there's always a few, but they're outnumbered at least ten to one," Fixxler said with a little grin. "I confess, I've advertised as an alchemist to get my share of the trend. 'Dr. Fixxler's Magical Elixirs. Uncommon Cures For Uncommon Cases.'"

"Of course, unlike most of the charlatans selling magic and mystery, he actually helps people," Alice said, smiling at Fixxler. "He gave me quite good advice in helping Victor get his memory back."

"Yes – you can thank him as much as Alice for the fact I'm better now," Victor agreed, smirking.

Judging by Nell's face, she would much rather eat rocks. "We're of course glad things worked out as they did," she said, taking a fairy cake instead. "Victor, wipe your hands – they're all over clotted cream."

"What – oh, yes, sorry," Victor said, looking down to find his scone a mangled mess. He quickly set it down and grabbed a napkin. _I didn't even realize I was doing that. . ._ _it just sort of happened, just like – no,_ _d_ _on't think of Jack Splatter's throat don't think of Jack Splatter's throat don't think of –_

William grinned at them. "Speaking of you and Alice – are we getting a wedding anytime soon?"

Well, that certainly stopped him thinking of Jack Splatter's throat. Unfortunately, it did so by sending his brain careening into a pit of broken china and steaming Ruin. Victor scrubbed the cream from his hands, refusing to look down lest his imagination paint it black. "I–" _really don't deserve her, I'm still sick, you'd hate me if you knew (if you don't hate me already)_ "We–"

"Haven't picked the right date yet," Alice said, putting a comforting hand on his wrist. "It's only been a couple of months since Victor regained his memories, you know. And just barely one since Christmas. We need some time to settle in."

"Well, you can't delay too long," Nell declared, frowning at Alice's bare fingers. "It ain't quite proper, you two living together without even a ring to show for it. And I'm going to need a guest list, you know!"

"It's not just _us_ at Houndsditch – and a guest list?" Alice tilted her head. "Well, I can give you that right now – yourselves, Dr. Wilson, June, the Whites, Nanny, the Houndsditch children if they want to come – though I doubt they'll have the attention span – and, if you're interested, you can come too, Dr. Fixxler."

"We'd be happy to have you there," Victor agreed with a nod.

"I'd be delighted," Dr. Fixxler said, smiling.

Nell's frown, however, only deepened. "And what about all those colleagues of your father? Lord Niddleson's son? All those other boys he taught?"

"I don't remember all of their names – and none of them came to see me in bedlam," Alice told her, grabbing a slice of Battenberg cake. "So why would they care to see me get married?"

"We have to _ask_ , at least!" Nell insisted, finishing off her fairy cake. "Even if they return the invitation, we can at least tell people we gave it! And we need to know what church you belong to as well!"

Alice fidgeted. "I – uh – don't."

Nell's jaw dropped. "You don't go to church?!"

"Bumby paraded the children to whatever parish was nearest on Sundays, but I was always rather too busy cleaning and cooking to join them," Alice explained, poking at her cake with her fork. "And if I'm honest, I've never been much for the religious life. I depend on myself and what I know is right."

"That will _simply_ not do," Nell snapped, pointing a butter knife at Alice. "Particularly with Victor barred from our parish. You have to find a suitable church, and straight away. Somewhere clean, with big windows and plenty of pews – we'll need the space for guests and decorations. And while you're doing that, I'll find you a dress."

Alice's eyebrows went low. "I am _perfectly_ capable of dressing myself, Mrs. Van Dort."

"For the East End, perhaps," Nell retorted, casting a disdainful eye at Alice's knee-length skirt. "Not for a wedding. You're marrying into a _very_ important family, even if Victor doesn't conduct himself like he should – sit up straight!" she barked at him abruptly, causing his knees to bump the table and jostle his teacup. "And don't spill anything! Anyway, if you're going to be a Van Dort, you're going to look the part. A silk dress, of course, to the floor, with a train at _least_ four feet long, and studded all over with pearls. And with lots of bows and ruffles too – and whiter than white." She drew herself up snootily. " _Certainly_ better than that old rag the Everglots presented for that Barkis fellow."

"You never even _saw_ that dress," Victor said, insulted on poor Victoria's behalf. "She looked nice."

"Alice has to look nicer! This has to be an _event_! Something that'll make the papers! Like what we would have had with the Everglots! Or the Kingsleighs," she added in a lower voice.

"Forgive me for not wanting to marry someone I'd never met _again_ ," Victor snapped. Softening slightly, he added, "How did they take your second letter? About me being – with someone already?"

"We got a curt note about not wasting their time in future from Lord Kingsleigh, but they didn't cut us when we ran into them between Christmas parties in London," William reported. "Didn't stick around and chat, but we got a nod and a 'how do you do.' So not too bad, I suppose."

"We were simply looking out for your future, Victor," Nell added. "We don't want you going around as just some _nouveau riche_ fishmonger's son." She took a deliberate sip of tea. "Or the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel."

"I doubt that nickname is ever going to be used outside of Whitechapel, Mother," Victor said, tearing off another bite of scone. "And – well, after what happened outside, I'm pretty sure they've come up with some worse ones for me here."

Nell huffed. "Honestly, Victor – sometimes I don't think you care about your status at _all_. After all that's happened, we _need_ to prove that we're just as good as anyone with a title! And that means having a suitable, well-attended wedding!" She fixed him with a suspicious eye. "You _cannot_ be that scared of marriage still, can you?"

Mayhew's sad, embarrassed face as he relayed the news of Victoria's first wedding – _"How could she?" You know how, Victor – you brought a dead woman claiming to be your wife to her room! Even if she was willing before, she was probably only too glad for another prospect after that!_ The clack of bone against a golden goblet – _Why is she – You can't? No, Emily, please, don't do this – not even the_ dead _want me?_ A flash of light off glasses in a mirror – _You'll hurt her you'll corrupt her if you don't get it under control. . .and even if you do, if Alice learns how **twisted** you are, she'll leave and you'll be standing at the altar all alone yet _again – Victor swallowed, the scone like a rock in his throat. "I just – n-need a little more time," he whispered. _Weak weak weak, why can't you just get over it. . . ._

Alice rubbed his arm. "I'm not going anywhere," she assured him. To his parents, she added, "And as I've told everyone else who's asked – I don't want to get married in winter anyway. To me, the only time for a wedding is when the flowers are blooming."

Nell sighed. "I guess everyone _would_ just go on and on about those _other_ weddings if we tried setting up something now," she relented. "But I expect you to make this official before the year's out, Victor!"

"I will do my best," Victor promised, making himself sit up straight. _Even if I have to cut off a certain portion of my anatomy before it fully poisons my brain._

"Just remember – you won't have to lift a finger when the time comes," William said, sipping his tea. "We'll get everything all set up so it looks, you know, right. Just like we did before." He grinned over the cup. "And maybe, if we're lucky, I can sneak in and outbid those hotel people squabbling over the Everglot place! Start you out in life right!"

"What – you want me to r-run a bed and breakfast?" Victor asked, blinking. Because surely his father wasn't suggesting–

William snorted. "No, I want you to _live_ there! Everglots may have let it get a little dusty, but that wouldn't be a problem for us!"

"Oh yes!" Nell said, eyes bright. "We can replace all those ratty carpets and drapes, open up all the rooms, hire a full staff, hang our own portraits, and replace that crest on the front with our own! Make it look like a _proper_ mansion again! And then have a grand soiree when you two get back from your honeymoon to–"

"To get us all run out of town with torches and pitchforks?" Victor cut in, gaping. "Mother, Father, I – I a-appreciate the thought, but – there's _no way_ I can live here!"

"Well, you're not staying in _Whitechapel_ ," Nell huffed, screwing up her face. "The idea of my son living all his life in _that_ part of London. . . ."

"You're the one who sent me there," Victor reminded her coolly.

"That was an emergency! We never intended for you to _stay_!"

"Have you forgotten already that we were met with a literal angry mob outside when we arrived?" Alice said, shaking her head. "Even the gate guard seemed horrified by the prospect of Victor being in town. And that's not getting into the fact that Galswells still sees him as a demon from Hell."

"Look, everyone's just still a little over-excited from that business last year," William said, taking a scone. "Once they see Victor in a proper marriage, with a young lady from a good family, they'll calm down. As for Galswells, well, a few donations to his church wouldn't go amiss, now would it? Prove you're good, God-fearing people."

"He'd just send the money back, I'm sure of it," Victor said, utterly astonished. _How can someone be so divorced from reality?_ Alice _was more coherent when she was wandering about Wonderland killing Ruins!_ "And the other villagers – it's been a year, and they _still_ hate me! Enough to throw things at me!"

"Just a little mud," William persisted, tearing off a bit of his scone. "I'm sure that was merely a bit of a jape from some–"

"Your son was very nearly lynched."

That made William stop dead. All eyes turned to Dr. Fixxler. "I've seen mobs like that back in Alabama," he continued, voice quiet and face serious. "It starts with a bit of shouting, maybe a thrown rock or two. . .and then, before you know it, everyone's up in arms and the fellow at the center of it all is swinging from a tree. Happened far too often where I grew up – men and women not wanting the black folk to get uppity." He looked at his lap for a moment, then back up at William. "When we pulled up outside your house, and those people started going after Victor, I was too afraid to get out of the carriage because – because I could see it happening all over again. Soon enough they were going to swarm, and. . .they were just starting to go on about sending him back to his 'precious Land of the Dead' when, fortunately, your son snapped and was able to frighten them enough to leave him alone. I don't know if he'd be able to pull off the trick a second time – begging your pardon, Victor." He sighed. "I know you just want things to go back to how they were before, Mr. Van Dort. I don't blame you. But this village is _never_ going to accept your son here again."

William went very quiet. "Ah," he murmured finally, eyes on his scone. "I see." He absently picked at the pastry. "Then that's the cannery sorted too. Didn't think I'd have to sell it in my lifetime. . . ."

"Father, we all know I wouldn't have been any good at running it anyway," Victor said, well aware it was very cold comfort. "I'm decent at making numbers add up, yes, but the rest – business just isn't for me. Your foreman would have ended up doing most of the work no matter what."

William nodded. "Right. Frank's got a good head on his shoulders. Keeps things running ship-shape. Just. . . ." He sighed, heavy and disappointed. "Perhaps I can convince him to hyphenate the name when I hand it over. Van Dort-Fontaine Fish."

"I don't think he'd object," Victor nodded. "He likes you. He wouldn't work for you otherwise."

"Mmmm." William dropped his scone and picked up his teacup again. "I suppose you ought to grab the last of your things from your room, then," he continued in a dull tone. "Clear it out. We never did. Thought you'd – well. Never got around to it."

"That's a good idea," Victor agreed, squirming. "I'll go pick out what I want once we're finished with tea."

William shrugged. "Whenever you like."

An intensely awkward silence descended on the group – even Nell seemed unsure what to say for a change. Victor hastily finished off his scone, then gulped down the rest of his tea. "M-may I please be excused?" he asked softly, patting his lips with a napkin.

Nell nodded. "Don't think we've forgotten your situation, though," she said pointedly as Victor stood. "You're not spending the rest of your days in some ratty old orphanage."

"I wasn't intending to, I promise." Victor looked at Alice and Dr. Fixxler. "Are you. . . ?"

"I am," Alice said, finishing off her last bite of cake. She stood and curtsied again to Nell and William. "Thank you for the tea."

"Yes, it was – very nice," Dr. Fixxler agreed, nodding.

"Thank you," Nell said, putting her nose in the air. "I don't suppose I need to send Belle to show you around?"

"No, of course not. Thank you." Victor offered up a quick half-bow, then fled the room.

Alice and Fixxler followed, Alice glancing back as Fixxler closed the door behind them. "Well – let's look on the bright side of things," she remarked. "The food was good and nobody died."

Victor rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't expect. . .then again, nothing about today is going as I expected."

Alice patted his arm. "Don't worry about it – things not going according to plan seems to be a staple of your life in Burtonsville lately. And I _did_ expect Nell Van Dort to get on my nerves." She huffed. "'Guest list. . . .' Isn't _she_ the one always complaining about how I've failed to keep up on my 'social contacts?' She should be grateful that I know anyone who wants to come to my wedding at all." She idly traced a whorl in the runner with her toe. "I suppose it _is_ rather scandalous I don't attend church like I should, but between being stuck in bedlam, dealing with Houndsditch, Reverend Mottle's little comment, and what I've heard of Pastor Galswells. . . ."

"It's not like I'm any better these days," Victor reminded her. "Not just because of Galswells barring me from his parish either. Between Emily's story and your own, I – well, I have a lot of very complicated feelings about God these days." He took her hands. "I won't let her bully you into having _her_ wedding. I m-mean, I know you wouldn't let her _anyway_ , but–"

Alice chuckled. "The sentiment is appreciated," she assured him, stroking his cheek. "And two is better than one against your mother. I won't let her bully _you_ into her timeline. She can make all the grand plans she wants – we'll get married our way, when we're _both_ ready."

There was that warm, runny feeling in his chest again. She was so wonderful, so patient and understanding – he so wanted to make her his bride. If only he could finally master that sickness inside of him, make himself a worthy husband for her. . . . _**You don't deserve her,**_ the cruel voice inside his head whispered.

 _No, I don't,_ Victor agreed. _But I love her. So I'm never going to stop fighting. I will_ not _be weak forever_. "Exactly," he agreed, cupping her chin. "And we'll live where we want to as well. Goodness, can you _imagine_ what it would have been like, taking up residence in the Everglot mansion? With them just across the square?"

"I can, and it's not a pretty picture," Alice said, shuddering. "Even _before_ getting into the fact that the rest of the village would do everything within their power to drive us out. . . ." She turned sad eyes to him. "I do believe you've been unofficially disowned now."

"So do I." Victor looked back at the door. "I didn't realize Father. . .I mean, I _understand_ , that cannery is his life, but. . . ." He shook his head. "He really thought I could just come back and take over, like nothing was wrong? With Galswells _still_ preaching that I'm of Satanic origins, and the villagers eating up every word?"

"Yes, seems particularly rude of them to call you deluded now," Alice agreed. She pulled him into a sideways embrace. "I am sorry. This must hurt."

Victor tied his fingers into knots. "It – it does, but – it's also infuriating," he admitted. "It's just the final proof that they only really cared about me so long as I could fulfill _their_ dreams. It was always obvious with Mother, but. . .I thought Father might. . . ."

Fixxler laid a hand on his shoulder. "Bloody awful when a parent turns against against their child. I'm sorry, Victor."

"Thank you." Victor took a deep breath. "At least it's not as bad as your father striking the first match on your shop. I'm allowed to _get_ my things."

"Well, I technically was too, I just had to do so in the dead of night before running for the state line," Fixxler said with a tiny smirk. "Getting yours shipped from here to Whitechapel is probably going to be easier though."

"I would like to see your room before we leave this miserable village behind," Alice said. "I've always been a bit curious." She grinned. "And unlike your invasion of Victoria's bedroom, young sir, _I_ have a chaperone."

That got him to smile again. "To be fair, you're not being forced to climb up the back of the house to sneak your way in after my parents threatened to strangle you."

"Which is probably for the best, yes," Alice allowed. "I'm nowhere near as good climbing as you are. I swear you're half-spider."

"You learn a lot of tricks running from Gordon Tannen," Victor said, shaking his head as he led them down the hall. "Don't worry – the only thing you have climb in here is stairs."

They made it upstairs with a minimum of fuss, taking in more of Nell's mismatched tastes on the way. "At least downstairs we had a clearly themed room or two," Alice said, looking between a Chinese ink sketch directly opposite a Thomas Lawrence portrait. "Up here she just seems to throw things about willy-nilly."

"Well, these are our personal rooms – maybe she thinks she can make less of an effort," Victor shrugged. "After all, we already know how expensive all of this is. And a lot of this gets moved around or put into storage depending on what's 'in' or not at the time."

"So if the Caribbean had been 'in,' I would have gotten a warmer welcome?" Fixxler joked.

"I hate to say it, but probably." Victor sighed. "Perhaps she would have been able to pronounce 'voodoo' in that case too. And not keep referring to 'your sort.'"

"Far from the worst I've heard," Fixxler assured him. "As I said, the other villagers were much more frightening. . .though I have to ask now – how on earth are _you_ so accepting? After growing up here? No complaints, but. . . ."

"It actually has to do with Pastor Galswells, in an odd way," Victor told him. "All my life, I listened to that man rail on about how this or that was immoral or sinful – women campaigning for the vote, the rise of mysticism, penny dreadfuls poisoning the minds of youth. . .and men kissing men. Which is why I was so surprised to catch two boys doing exactly that right behind the church when I was about fourteen. One of them threatened to knock my teeth in if I told the pastor – but as I was assuring him I wouldn't, I realized. . .he didn't need to threaten me. I wouldn't have said a word no matter what." He gazed off into the middle distance, reliving the moment. "Because when I saw them there – they were two of the happiest people in Burtonsville. And they weren't hurting anyone. They just – wanted to be together. Even when I remembered everything Galswells said about it being wrong, being sinful. . .after seeing the 'sin' in action, all that sounded like a lot of hot air from a blowhard who couldn't stand anyone being different to him." He smiled at Fixxler. "That's when I decided that, if Galswells didn't like it, perhaps there was something to it."

Alice snorted. "So your willingness to give almost anyone a chance is born of adolescent rebellion?"

"I just – I didn't want to grow up to be like him," Victor said, shrugging. "Forever moody and furious at the world. I wanted – I wanted to believe there was something better out there." He sighed. "And then I met Barkis Bittern and Angus Bumby."

Alice took his arm. "Not everyone is like them," she said. "You know that."

 _ **You do indeed,** _ the voice in his head agreed. _**Those boys shared some of Bumby's urges, and yet they managed to keep their indiscretions to simple kisses. Restrain themselves. Why do you always want more?**_

 _Shut it._ "I do, but – the fact that they got away with what they did for _so long_. . . ." Victor clenched a fist. "Why does the world have to be so unfair?"

"You're asking the wrong person that question."

"The way I see it, there's always going to be people like those two running around," Fixxler said. "Human nature, unfortunately. It's up to the rest of us to make up for them."

_**Mmm-hmmm. Not follow in their footsteps and –** _

_I said shut it!_ "I suppose," Victor agreed, tamping down on the guilt threatening to overrun him yet again. "Anyway – my room's over here."

Alice smiled as she laid eyes on the blue door midway down the hall. "You got to choose the color? With _your_ mother?"

"Every so often she threw me a bone – which is more than she ever did for Scraps," Victor joked, getting a giggle. "Probably just to keep me quiet, but still. It was nice to have something cheerful to come back to after lessons in the library." He reached for the doorknob –

And paused. Alice frowned while Fixxler scratched his head. "Something wrong?"

"I – it's just – after everything. . .it – it feels weird, coming back here," Victor admitted, staring at the flaking paint. "The Victor Van Dort who left this room was a very different person."

Alice patted his back. "Fair point. I'm probably going to be the same way once we get back to Oxford." She leaned up close to him. "But it's just four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. I know you're more than strong enough to tackle those. And whatever memories might be lying in wait inside."

Now if only he could have _that_ on a loop in his head, instead of Bumby hissing that they weren't so different. "Thanks," he whispered, and opened the door.

It was like stepping into a time warp. His bed, his desk, his books, his easel – everything was exactly where he'd left it when he'd departed back in April. There wasn't even any dust, thanks to the diligence of the Van Dort maids. Victor touched the wall, taking it all in. "Wow," he mumbled.

Alice craned her head to get as good a view as possible. "It's – emptier than I expected," she admitted, rocking on her heels. "After what your mother did to the rest of the house, I thought there'd at least be a fancy rug and throw pillows. And the bed doesn't look that dissimilar to the one we have in Houndsditch."

"It was Father's when he was younger," Victor told her, walking toward it and running his fingers over the cold metal frame. "My grandparents kept it around for years just so they could present it as a gift when I finally showed up. I assure you, the mattress is _much_ more comfortable."

Alice sat on it and bounced a few times. "Certainly feels that way. And at least it isn't shaped like a fish." She turned toward the far wall with a grin. "This sight's familiar too – you didn't take all your drawings?"

"I didn't think I'd have room," Victor said, approaching the few sketches still pinned up. "So I only brought my absolute favorites." He traced the wide wings of an inked moth with his finger. "Good thing too. Otherwise. . . ."

_**"Take them down, Thirteen. They're useless to your purpose."** _

_"Yes sir. . . ." Mindlessly removing each drawing, not even looking at them, just crumpling them and tossing them in a battered metal bin without a care in the world. . .with Master's watchful eye tracking his progress, before raking over his_ –

Victor grabbed the memory, shoved it into a mental closet, then slammed the door and locked it hard. _Over. That's over now,_ he scolded himself, pressing his hand against the wall. _You lost those drawings. Horrible as it is, you have to move on. Dwelling on it just makes him and his hold over you stronger. You've caused everyone enough trouble already. Get over it!_

"Victor?" Alice stood up, eyes probing his face. "Do you–"

"I'm fine," Victor insisted, straightening. The memory clawed at the edges of the closet door – he shoved it back with a mental shoulder to the wood. "I'll be fine, anyway. Once I get these home."

Alice blinked. "Home?" She came over and pressed a hand against his forehead. "Hmmm. . .I don't _feel_ a fever. . . ."

Victor laughed, the tension breaking as the memory settled into a sulk. "I meant Houndsditch. Which currently _is_ more home than this place." He looked at the floorboards. "Probably more than this place ever was."

"I'll give you that," Alice said, dropping her hand. "Not that I want to stay in Houndsditch forever, mind. In a scene that may never be repeated, I agree with Nell – we _do_ need to get out of Whitechapel."

"We'll get something sorted eventually," Victor said, turning his gaze back up to her. "Once we're ready. If nothing else, I still know a fellow who'd rent us a simple flat in the city."

"Maybe as a stopgap," Alice mused. "While we look for a house. Between us, we should be able to buy something decent."

"I think somewhere with plenty of bookshelves would be prudent," Fixxler remarked, poking one of the stacks still teetering on Victor's desk.

"I have shelves!" Victor protested, waving a hand at the half-empty case tucked into the corner. "I just – like to keep my reading material handy! And they're useful for keeping freshly-caught butterflies at eye level for sketching."

"Given the state your own shop is in, I don't think you're the best person to lecture him on cleanliness," Alice added, smirking.

"That mess is for ambiance and you know it," Fixxler grinned. He turned his attention to the picture hanging nearby. "I'm assuming this is you, Victor. . . ."

"And my dog Scraps," Victor confirmed. "Back when he had fur."

"The famous Scraps?" Alice leaned around Fixxler for a look. "Aww, what a cutie. . .and the dog is adorable too," she added, smirking.

Victor blushed. "Glad you think so. I _hated_ that stupid sailor suit. But that's what the boys who were 'quality' wore, so I didn't get a choice in the matter."

"For someone who insists she's already innately on the same level as her social betters, your mother certainly likes to ape them." Alice squinted at the young Victor. "Goodness, you _were_ a small child."

"It's the Van Dort way – start small, grow tall," Victor said. "Along with smelling of fish and being the same color as parchment paper."

"I'd make a joke, but I'm really not much better," Alice said, holding her hand next to his to compare.

Fixxler stuck his hand in between them. "I am."

Victor and Alice both laughed. "It _is_ quite the contrast, isn't it?" Alice agreed. "Anyone around here who spotted you randomly on the street might think you were a shadow, come to life."

"Funnily enough, there _is_ a way to do that," Fixxler informed her. "Not sneakily, though – you have to actually say what you want it to do."

"Or perhaps sing?" Victor asked, recalling Bonejangles's mysterious ability to shape his and Emily's shadows into images of her and Barkis in life.

"That could work, yes. Though I have a hard time imagining you just bursting into song."

"I'm better with the piano than my voice, yes," Victor admitted. He leaned on the desk, staring out the window at the square. The shoppers were thinning out now, a couple throwing the mansion dirty looks before scurrying off for home. "It's funny to think of Bonejangles – of any of the Dead – living here. They're all so accepting, so full of joy and – life. I can't – why is it so different between Upstairs and Down?"

"I suspect death cures one of caring much about what's 'proper' and not, for starters," Alice said, settling in next to him. "After all, the literal worst has happened – what's to lose if you don't follow all of society's rules? And it's worth noting that likely everyone you met down there died either before Galswells took over as pastor, or not too long afterwards. Perhaps the fellow before him was less concerned with rooting out sin and more about being a good neighbor."

"Maybe." Victor glanced down at the floorboards. "I dread to think what it's going to be like when he dies. I can't imagine _him_ ever joining in the fun. He'll probably assume he's been sent to Hell and spend all his time railing against the 'demons' around him."

"So, no change from his living activities, then," Alice deadpanned. "At least we won't have to worry about him spoiling our fun down there tonight." She grinned, idly swinging a foot. "I'm looking forward to meeting everyone."

"I'm looking forward to introducing you," Victor said, smiling back. "You'll love them all, I'm sure."

"Well, I doubt I'll love Barkis, but he's not likely to be part of the welcoming committee, is he?"

"Oh, definitely not," Victor said, wrinkling his nose. "Judging by the looks on everyone's faces when they cornered him in the church, he's probably been cut up for one of Ms. Plum's stews. Serves him right – I certainly never want to set eyes on him again."

"Fellow like that? My guess is he's been dragged off to Hell by now," Fixxler said, patting Victor's shoulder.

Victor blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh, don't be dim – you told me you saw Emily pass on. You didn't think there was something similar for those going in the other direction? My grandpop told me about it when I visited. The righteous fly off to Heaven as a flock of butterflies bathed in moonlight – the wicked are yanked into the fires by those whips they loved so much in life."

"Or maybe thrown in by an angry mob. . .good," Victor added, setting his jaw as he remembered Victoria's terrified face, and Emily's broken stare. "Sorry – it's easy for me to forget that the Land of the Dead isn't the last stop, so to speak. Even after Emily."

"I for one am glad that Bumby won't be polluting the same afterlife as my sister for long," Alice replied, standing up straight. "I hope he gets those whips – or worse." She frowned. "Though. . .now I'm wondering. . .if Heaven's real, why are there so many people in the Land of the Dead? You made it sound like wonderful fun, Victor, but – surely people would want to pass on to their final reward sooner rather than later?"

"Well, we know Emily was waiting to get married. . .maybe the others are waiting for something too," Victor hypothesized. "I mean, a lot of people would want to move on with at least their husbands and wives, wouldn't they?"

"My grandpop was waiting for my grandma," Fixxler confirmed. "And I bet you plenty simply have trouble letting go of mortal life. Why else would there be bars down there if you technically don't need to drink?"

"True. . . ." Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh – this trip was supposed to be about letting go of the last of my guilt. Now I'm wondering if I'm holding up my parents and sister from something better."

"If they're down there, it's because they're happy there," Victor said immediately, taking her hand. "And I'm sure they want to see you again. It's their choice." He smiled encouragingly. "Do you know how many skeletons I saw down there? Drinking and playing pool and singing and swapping heads? People wouldn't stay right up until they lost all their flesh if they weren't enjoying themselves."

"I know, I know. Everything you've said about it makes it sound like just where Mama and Papa and Lizzie should be." Alice sighed. "But – for my own sake of mind – when we do see them, I'm going to tell them not to wait on me anymore if they're ready to go. I'll be content seeing them one last time. Knowing they've gotten to their final destination." Her lips lifted, just a tad. "Besides, if they insist on waiting longer, it's going to be a while. I intend to live a good long time." She interlaced their fingers. "And I'm not passing on without you."

Victor sandwiched her hand between hers. "Same here," he whispered. "And I understand. I'm glad Emily moved on too. No matter how nice the Land of the Dead is, she deserved to be at peace after everything she went through. Living _and_ dead." He glanced out the window, at the slowly-darkening sky. "I just hope I can see her again one day."

"You both helped catch her murderer and finally led her to the altar," Alice told him, putting her hand atop his. "I doubt you're barred from her slice of Heaven." She pressed down lightly. "As it is, ready to go see how well that stonemason earned his commission?"

"In a little bit – I still need to figure out what I'm taking from here and get it packed up for Houndsditch," Victor said, scanning the room. "And then – I'd _like_ to go to the florist, but I don't think he'll let me in. Perhaps if I put my Whitechapel bribing skills to use. . . ."

"They think me a hero there, even with my association with you," Alice said, touching his arm. "Let me buy what you've got in mind. Roses and lilies, right?"

A blue bouquet sailed across a moonlit church in Victor's mind. He nodded slowly. "And baby's breath."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The "Punch and Judy" story Nell relates is inspired by Lorina decrying their entertainment value in a memory you can find in Barrelbottom in A:MR. I believe I also mentioned the incident in "In The Land of the Dead."
> 
> \-->Alice's attitude toward religion is based on a comment American McGee threw out about her depending on herself not long after A:MR came out.
> 
> \-->William's foreman's name comes from _BioShock_ \-- don't worry, this one isn't planning on killing William to take over his business!
> 
> \-->Fixxler's comment about having a hard time imagining Victor bursting into song is a reference to the fact that Victor's only song in _Corpse Bride_ ended up cut (you can find a demo version of it on YouTube, though -- it's called "Erased"), and a friendly jab at the fact the movie is JUST technically a musical with four songs. :p


	7. Heck Though Ain't It Grand

January 26th, 1876

Burtonsville, England

5:47 P.M.

"Well – Radcliffe may be primarily a large bag of hot air and petty embezzlement, but I'll give him this. He was right about that sculptor friend of his being gifted."

"Indeed," Victor agreed, kneeling before the marble tree stump set at the base of the twisted old oak. He ran his fingers over the wedding ring carved into the top, then across the delicate stone wings of the butterfly perched next to it. "It's even prettier than when we last saw it in his studio. I still can't believe you can get marble this thin."

"It is impressive," Fixxler agreed, holding his bag against his chest. "I just hope it holds up in bad weather."

"It survived the trip here – and Burtonsville never gets much in the way of bad storms." Victor grimaced as he withdrew his hand. "I'm more worried about someone coming out here with a club and smashing it. I'm a little surprised Pastor Galswells didn't already have a go. . .perhaps he's too afraid to enter the woods these days. He probably thinks the portal to Hell lurks within." He sighed. "Rather ironic, given the whole reason I had this made was so that people would see it and remember her."

Alice knelt down next to him. "Well, maybe the next generation will be a little less cruel," she said, rubbing his shoulder. "Or, at the very least, a little more inclined to consider it nothing but a harmless folk tale."

"I hope so." Victor reached out again, this time tracing the words etched into the front of the gleaming white stump:

_Emily Cartwell_

_The Jubliciously Lovely Corpse Bride_

_Died 1852_

_May She Rest In Peace_

Alice eyed his frown. "It's a very fitting memorial, if you ask me. I think she would have liked it."

"Oh, I've nothing against the gravestone at all," Victor assured her. "I was just thinking. . .it's a shame we were never able to find out more about her. I know I should be grateful the Everglots remembered as much as they did, considering how useless my parents were just now, but. . .I would have liked to have let her father know what happened. Assure him his daughter had safely moved on. If he's even still alive. . . ." He bit his lip. "Did they ever find each other in the Land of the Dead? Did he ever forgive her for running off? Or has he spent his whole life thinking his daughter abandoned him for a scoundrel?"

"Maybe Bonejangles or some of the others from the Ball & Socket know," Alice suggested. "From what you've told me, she was quite popular down there. No one's stopping you from asking."

"Right. . .I'm sorry, I know I keep going on about all this," Victor added, looking up at her. "It's just – the more I think about it, the more unfair it all gets. Murdered, then practically forgotten – what worse fate could there be?"

"I certainly can't think of one," Alice said. "Makes me quite glad my family got a proper memorial." She laid the bouquet she'd purchased at the foot of the stump, the paper crinkling against the stone. "I'm sorry I never got to meet you, Emily. You sound like a lovely young lady."

"She was," Victor said, stroking the flowers with two fingers. "And I think she would have liked you. She was a bit like June – very bubbly. And I'm sure she would have been full of sympathy for what happened to you and yours."

"Mmm. . . ." Alice nudged him, smirking. "A real shame she was so much older than the rest of us. If you'd somehow managed to meet her, Victoria, and me all at once, we could have had a proper harem going."

Victor went pink, doing his best to shove back the voice hissing, _**Oh yes, three women to pollute, wouldn't you have just loved**_ **that** _ **. . . .**_ "You w-wouldn't have minded sharing me with two other women?"

"Well, if – as you say – Emily was like June, I wouldn't have minded her company. And I already think Victoria's quite nice. And it would be handy to have someone else skilled with a needle around Houndsditch."

"What about Christopher?"

"Oh, Victoria can keep him as a concubine, I don't mind."

Victor snorted, the ludicrousness of the joke overcoming his guilt. "You keep talking like that and people are going to think you're serious."

"Maybe in another lifetime." Alice gave the stone a friendly pat, then got back to her feet, brushing soil from her skirt. "As it stands, it's gone quite dark for six in the afternoon. Are we safe to proceed, Dr. Fixxler?"

Fixxler nodded with a quick glance at the deepening navy blue of the sky. "I'd say it's far enough after sunset. And if it isn't. . . ." He set his bag down and snapped it open, revealing a trio of mottled white eggs resting in little compartments filled with straw. "I brought a few extra, just in case." He picked up the leftmost one, rolling it between his fingers. "You two ready to go?"

"I think so," Victor said, getting up and wiping the dirt from his knees. "Alice?"

"I'm ready," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "I've been ready since five days ago. There's nothing special we have to do, right?"

"No, just stay close to me," Fixxler confirmed. He tossed the egg into the air and caught it. "'Hopscotch' all right as the return word again?"

Victor laughed softly. "It's certainly one I'll remember, yes." He took Alice's hand. "Let's do this."

"Right-o." Fixxler tossed the egg again, then snatched it from the air and forced his thumb into the middle.

_Crack!_ The shell split in two, releasing billows of thick gray fog, which wrapped around the trio in a cool embrace. Victor watched with interest as it flowed down their bodies in a swirling shawl, flaring gold as it reached their feet. "How curious. . .it was the other way around when Elder Gutknecht cast this on me and Emily," he remarked.

"Well, you two were going in the opposite direction," Fixxler pointed out. "Should just be a second more. . . ."

Right on cue, the fog pulsed one last time, then faded away, soaking into the forest floor. Fixxler grinned and doffed his hat, bowing. "Here we are, folks! The Land of the Dead!"

Alice frowned, underwhelmed. "Really?" She glanced around. "I can't say it looks much different. . .you're sure it worked?"

Victor peered closely at a nearby tree. "It did – this bark looks more dark blue than black," he reported. He turned his gaze upward. "And the sky's different too. Much more purple than before."

Alice squinted through the branches. "So it is," she agreed. "All right then – sorry to doubt you, Dr. Fixxler. I was just expecting a more dramatic change."

"So was I," Fixxler admitted, straightening. "It'll be more obvious once we get to town, I'm sure."

"Definitely," Victor confirmed, looking at the mirror of the old oak, then out into the trees. "Goodness, did Emily carry me all the way to the Ball & Socket from here? I didn't think I was out of it _that_ long. . . ."

"It wasn't _that_ far a walk from the village wall to here," Alice reminded him. "If we living could manage it, I'm sure an excited dead bride, who didn't have to worry about tired legs to boot, could as well." She stepped forward. "All right then – let's find the path, and – ah!"

She jumped back as a half-rotted mouse, tail hanging on by a few dangling sinews, burst from the leaf litter, running straight over her left foot. Seconds later, a bony snout sent the leaves flying, and a skeletal fox with the last remains of a blue brush still clinging to its hindquarters took off in pursuit. Alice pressed a hand to her chest as the two raced into the trees, squeaking and yapping. "Okay, _now_ I can believe we're in the Land of the Dead."

Victor giggled as Fixxler hid a grin. "You'll get used to it." He took her elbow and surveyed the landscape. "If it's all the same as Upstairs, we should be able to just retrace our steps – through the old cemetery and down the hill to the river, and then back over to the village. Though – the Land of the _Dead_ would have no use for a cemetery, would it? What would it even look like down here?"

"Let's find out," Alice declared, apparently determined not to let the incident with the mouse and fox rattle her. She marched up the little rise, pulling Victor with her as Fixxler trailed just behind.

As they reached the top, it became apparent that "cemetery" Downstairs was more or less synonymous with "park." All the headstones were still in place – in fact, many were in better condition than the ones Upstairs – but the graves themselves had been dug up, providing open holes for skeletons to lounge in. The coffins had been repurposed into benches and picnic tables, and memorial flowers "planted" into miniature gardens for blue-tinted matrons to coo over. Someone had even hung up Chinese-style paper lanterns between the trees, spilling green and yellow and purple light across the visitors. Victor grinned as he took it all in. "Add a pole, and this could almost pass for the May Day picnic," he murmured. "With a dose of Halloween cheer."

"If the Oxford cemeteries had been this colorful, perhaps I would have gotten up the courage to visit the family vault sooner," Alice agreed. She chuckled as two skeletal children weaved around the gravestones, chasing a mangy cat with its skull poking through its fur. "Anyone you recognize?"

"Well, that woman in the floppy red hat is Ethel Shallots," Victor said, pointing to a tall lady chatting with her blue-hatted friend. "And the children look familiar too. . .never got their names, th – oh!"

Victor's face lit up as he suddenly spotted a familiar large-jawed skull under a bowler hat, ambling along the path at the edge of the crowd. "What luck – hey! Bonejangles!" he called, waving wildly.

All heads promptly swiveled in their direction. "What – who's that?" a skeleton asked, dirt pouring out his eye holes as he sat up in his grave.

"New arrival?" Ethel wondered, pushing up the brim of her hat.

"How's a new arrival gonna know–" Bonejangles stopped dead as he caught sight of the trio. His single eye widened. "What the – _Victor_?"

"Victor?" Ethel bounced, clapping her hands. "Oh, Victor! Everyone, it's Emily's old groom!"

"It's me!" Victor confirmed, scrambling down the slope hand in hand with Alice. His feet slid wildly in the loose dirt, and Alice wobbled dangerously a couple of times, but they managed to make it to the bottom upright. "It's so good to see you all!"

"It's good to see you!" the skeleton said, clambering out of his hole to shake Victor's hand. The other corpses followed suit, crowding around the couple in a flurry of well-wishes. "Here and breathing again, though? You gotta get out of that habit."

"It's a special trip," Victor explained, waving for Fixxler to join them. "How is everyone?"

"Finally settling down after the ruckus you caused," another skeleton reported. He pointed at Alice. "Who's this?"

"Alice," Alice introduced herself, trying to make eye (or eye-socket) contact with everyone at once. "I'm – er, well, there's a bit of a story involved. . . ."

"Oh, so you're his new lady?" the first skeleton asked. Seeing Victor and Alice's startled looks, he added, "Bonejangles told us that – hey, BJ, where you goin'?"

Bonejangles spun around, already halfway up the path. "I'm coming right back!" he called, waving his arms. "Gotta get somebody! Don't go anywhere, okay Victor?"

"Er – I don't think I could if I tried!" Victor called back, glancing at the ring of corpses around him. "Who–"

But Bonejangles was already on the move again, booking it into the trees. Victor frowned as he disappeared behind a trunk. _Well, that's funny. I thought_ _for sure he would have been the first one here to greet us._ _I was looking forward to seeing him again. . .then again, maybe Ms. Plum and the others from the Ball & Socket are nearby? __That would_ _be nice, all of us getting reacquainted at once. I just hope I can properly explain why I'm down here with a_ third _girl – although it seems like everyone already knows about Victoria_ –

"Ah – I would not do that if I were you."

Victor blinked, then turned to see Mr. Ullman behind them, one hand raised to give him a hearty slap on the back. "I'm just saying hello," Ullman said defensively in stereo, one half of his face popping free of the other to give Alice a disapproving look.

"Yes, well, if your idea of 'hello' is an elbow to the face. . . ."

"I r-really don't do well with being s-surprised from b-behind," Victor confirmed, biting his lip as ghostly hands trailed down his shoulders to his hips. _Easy, easy. . .he's not here, he can't hurt you, no one's going to hurt you here, you do_ not _need to_ _back yourself up against the nearest tree,_ _you are_ stronger _than that. . . ._ "Or f-from the front – remember how I was when I f-first entered the Ball & S-Socket?"

Ullman's face snapped back together, now contrite. "Good point – sorry, I did forget for a moment."

"No harm done," Victor assured him, pretending to rub a kink in his back so he could wipe off Bumby's touch. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Ullman. I never did thank you for helping me when Barkis was after me with that sword."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Ullman replied with a lopsided smile. "That scoundrel was not playing fair at all." He waved his hand up and down the seam splitting him in twain. "And it's not like he could have done any worse to me than what the saw already managed."

"Saw?" Alice repeated, eyes wide with horror.

"I was in the lumber business while alive," Ullman explained. "My last day Upstairs, I spent inspecting a new mill I was planning to buy. It seemed all right – up until the moment the catwalk rail gave way and I plunged head-first into some logs being cut. I'm pretty sure they weren't able to do anything with that particular batch of timber."

Alice shuddered. "Oh dear, what a way to go. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, it was a while ago – and, fortunately, only hurt for a moment." Ullman flexed his neck, head cleaving apart like someone had driven an ax straight through it. "My only hope is that my death inspired them to shore up those rails!" He squelched his bits back together, then looked around at Fixxler as he managed to worm his way into the crowd. "Goodness, three breathers in one day!" He stuck out a hand. "Good to meet you, sir – Mr. Stephen Ullman."

"Dr. Jeremiah Fixxler," Fixxler introduced himself, shaking.

"He's the one responsible for us being down here," Victor added. "A magician friend of ours."

"Yes, what _does_ bring you to our lovely Land again?" Ethel inquired, clasping her hands before her. "We really didn't think we'd see you again before you died."

"Well, it's mostly so–"

"Sam, please, what is so important that you had to drag me away from my book?"

Alice's head jerked around like an owl's – surprised, Victor followed her gaze to see Bonejangles hurrying toward them again, this time hand-in-hand with a puzzled-looking young woman. "What's the point in being so mysterious?" she added, head bobbing slightly on her exposed spine. "If it's something I'll like, you may as well–"

"Lizzie?"

The crowd fell dead (or, perhaps, _living_ ) silent. The woman with Bonejangles froze as if she'd been hit with the Ice Wand, eyes wide. ". . .Alice?"

Victor gaped. Of all the things he had expected. . .but there was no mistaking it. Bonejangles's companion was, beyond the rot, an exact match for the woman he'd seen so often in Alice's precious family portrait. Goodness, she was almost one for Alice herself. She was a bit taller – closer to Emily's height – her hair was longer and worn in a different style, and her eyes were blue instead of green, but beyond that. . . . _No wonder Bumby was so interested in Alice as a replacement,_ he thought, then immediately had to press down the urge to smack his skull against the nearest tree. _You disgusting man – as if that makes it right!_ _Ugh, how could I let that even pass through my head. . . ._

Alice, fortunately, was oblivious to his mental faux pas. She pulled her arm free of his, eyes locked on the decayed form of her sister. The crowd parted to let her pass. "You're here," she whispered, clutching her hands to her mouth. "You're actually here."

" _You're_ here," Lizzie replied, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're – oh God – Alice!"

In a burst of speed, they were in each other's arms, holding each other so tight one would think they were about to fuse into a single being. "Oh, Lizzie. . .I missed you so, so much," Alice choked out, burying her face in Lizzie's shoulder.

"I missed you," Lizzie said between sniffles. "Oh, Alice, I'm so glad you're all right."

"So _this_ is the famous sister!" the first skeleton declared, grinning (not that he could do much else). "Pleasure to meet you at last!"

"Good to see you're still breathing," the second skeleton added.

"Very – but, Alice, how are you even _down_ here if you're still alive?" Lizzie added, pulling away to look her in the face. "As far as I know, there aren't any corpse grooms around."

"Dr. Fixxler here escorted us," Alice explained, pointing – he waved in greeting. "He wants to meet Elder Gutknecht, it's a bit of a story – what are _you_ doing here?!" she added, putting her hands on her hips in a mock scold. "You're _supposed_ to be waiting for me under your grave in Oxford!"

"We're visiting friends!" Lizzie said with a laugh. "Sam's mother and everyone else at the Ball & Socket. Mama and Papa are there right now – what, did you think we were just going to hang around our house all our afterlife?" she teased in response to Alice's astonished look.

"Well – yes," Alice confessed, twisting a lock of hair around her hand. "Maybe it's silly, but I don't know how Downstairs works! I had to get all my information second-hand from someone who was only here a day!"

"Two, technically – I stayed overnight," Victor reminded her, stepping forward. He offered a hand to Lizzie. "Victor Van Dort. I suppose if you're familiar with the people here you've heard of – oof!"

He stumbled backward as Lizzie practically tackled him with the same force as that with which she'd greeted her sister. "Victor. . .oh, you're all right too. We were so worried. . . ."

"I – what?" Victor blinked down at her, brain racing with confusion. "Why – what do you–"

Lizzie looked up at him with sad eyes. "We happened to be in London when a certain doctor died," she explained softly. "He let a few things – slip."

And just like that, there went said brain into a sudden brick wall. Victor opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, unable to think of a word to say. Alice's family was in Burtonsville? Lizzie had been present for Bumby's death? _They already knew what had happened to him?_ But he wasn't – he hadn't – he'd wanted to gloss over the whole mess, keep the focus on Alice's escape and not his – his failures. . . .

"Yeah, arsehole made it clear that – you _are_ okay, right, Victor?" Bonejangles asked, eye rolling to left to right as he tilted his head in concern.

Victor shuddered as he wondered what Bumby might have made clear about him. "I'm – fine," he managed. "I-I've been better, certainly, b-but. . .l-look, if we must talk about this, c-can it wait until we're at the pub? I – I really only w-want to say it once."

"Of course," Lizzie nodded, releasing him. "I'm sorry if I startled you. It's just – well." She rubbed the bone that was all that remained of her throat. "You must know I sympathize more than I'd like."

"I do," Victor said, awash in a sudden burst of second-hand grief. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

Lizzie grinned at him. It was not a nice grin. "I got my own back, eventually. Sam and I made _very_ sure that he wasn't going to be bothering anyone ever again, Upstairs or Down."

Vindictive glee leapt up inside him, chasing away the sadness – though it was tempered with a touch of confusion. "I'm quite glad to hear that. . .but – who's Sam?"

Bonejangles laughed. "Oh, come on – you think I was _born_ with the name Bonejangles?" he asked, nudging Victor's side. He tipped his hat. "Sam Thatcher, at your service!"

"Thatcher?" Victor shared a surprised look with Alice. "Well, that's – curious. . . ."

Bonejangles tipped his head to the left, eyeball rolling back as he did. "What is?"

"My new coworker at Houndsditch is a Thatcher," Alice told him, rocking on her heels. "June Thatcher. And she's from Burtonsville too. I know it's not _that_ uncommon a last name, but. . .do you have a sister?"

"I've got _eleven_ sisters – but yeah, the youngest was June," Bonejangles said, blinking. "Never really got to know her, though – died before she even hit a year. How old's your June?"

"Twenty-three," Alice reported. "And looking at you, I think you've both got the same chin!"

"Really?" Bonejangles rubbed his jaw. "Sheesh, poor kid."

"It looks _fine_ with flesh on it, I've told you," Lizzie said, giving him a poke.

"Yes, she wears it well," Victor assured him, head spinning. Would the surprises never cease today? "And she's mentioned a brother who died when she was a baby." His brow furrowed. "Just. . .she's always called him 'Jeremy.'"

There was a heavy, telling silence for a minute. It was broken by a very unladylike snort from Lizzie. " _Jeremy_?"

"I _told_ you it was stupid!" Bonejangles snapped, yanking his bowler down to cover his face.

"Oh come on, that's hardly anything to get embarrassed about!" Lizzie said, snickering. "I thought it was something like 'Whitford' or 'Enoch' or the like. You are entirely too sensitive."

Victor giggled behind his hands. "I assume Sam is your _middle_ name, then."

"Yeah, and it's what everybody else always called me!" Bonejangles complained from under his hat. "What's she goin' around callin' me 'Jeremy' for?"

"Search me – if it makes you feel better, my full name's Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort," Victor said consolingly.

"I'm Alice Pleasance Liddell," Alice added with a chuckle.

"Hey, your parents did it in the right order – _middle_ names are supposed ta be the dumb ones." Bonejangles peeked out from under his brim. " _Pleasance_ , though?"

"Apparently I was born on a very nice spring day and Mama wanted to commemorate it." Alice stood on tiptoe, looking down the path. "Speaking of her – fun as this is, I think it's about time we headed to the Ball & Socket. I'm sure you're, um, dying to know what became of me." She dropped heavily to her heels. "Although, judging by your reaction to Victor, you seem pretty well-informed already."

"Not as much as I'd like," Lizzie replied, touching her shoulder. "Most of what we've learned is hearsay – bits and pieces from other dead. I very much want to know what happened straight from the horse's mouth."

Alice smiled. "Well, I haven't got a horse, so you'll have to settle for hearing it from me."

"We'll go on ahead – let everyone else know you're coming," Ethel said, clapping her hands together. "Oh, they'll all be so excited!" She wrapped Victor in a quick hug. "Wonderful to see you again, dear. I hope my Orville has been treating you right!"

Victor forced a smile. "He's – doing fine."

Fortunately, Ethel was too excited to take much note of his tone. "Good, good!" She waved an eager hand at the group. "Goodbye everyone! We'll see you shortly!"

"Ms. Plum will whip up something delicious, I'm sure!" Mr. Ullman said, licking his lips. "That wedding cake was a real treat, even if the wedding itself never happened."

"I'm glad – but, ah, please remind her that the living generally aren't keen on poison or body parts in their food?" Victor said, tugging on his tie. "We're, um, n-not here to, er, stay."

"Oh yes, of course," Mr. Ullman assured him. "We'll find something for you." He patted Victor on the shoulder. "See you in a bit!"

"We'll warm up the piano for you!" the first skeleton promised.

That got a real smile out of him. "Much obliged."

There were a few final waves and general well-wishes, then the crowd moved off in a flurry of clattering bones and shifting cloth. Alice watched them disappear down the path. "I think you're as popular down here as you are unpopular up there," she said to Victor, nodding toward the twilight sky.

"Yeah, we heard what Mr. 'That Hat Is Compensatin' For Something' is callin' ya these days," Bonejangles commented, skull dropping into shadow as he fixed his hat. "And that the rest of the village is goin' right along with it. Ethel might wanna believe the best of her husband, but I'm guessin' he wasn't all that happy to see ya."

"Not at all – but at least he wasn't the one to throw mud at me," Victor said, wiping his face as he recalled the splat. "It was – frightening, for a moment, as poor Dr. Fixxler can attest."

"They were about ready to send him Downstairs permanently," Fixxler confirmed. "Fortunately, Victor is surprisingly scary himself when he loses his temper."

"What, you sling some mud right back?" Bonejangles asked.

"No, just words – admittedly, some nasty Whitechapel slang, but. . .I think I escaped simply because no one's used to hearing me shout." Victor sighed, twisting his hands together. "It all makes me very glad Emily's grave is out beyond the village walls. We bought her a headstone, if you'd like to see it."

"No kiddin'?" Bonejangles climbed the hill, followed by Lizzie. "Oh, yeah, I think I see it – what is that, a stump made outta marble?"

"We wanted something a bit outside the norm," Alice said. "There's a butterfly on it as well, and a ring."

"Nice – we'll wander that way later for a better look," Bonejangles said, helping Lizzie back down the slope. "Gotta get you to ma and pa now. . .though, hey, speakin' of your old fiancees, Victor, whatever happened to Victoria? We heard something about her parents spiritin' her out of town after we all gave Barkis his welcome, but nothin' since. She just drop off the face of the earth?"

"Almost – it took my parents over a month to find her and her family," Victor explained as they started off. "And when we did. . .they'd already heard that Galswells was calling me damned, and took it to mean I'd – come here to stay. Victoria had been trying to get back to Burtonsville, but after that, she decided I must have loved Emily more than her and allowed herself to move on as well. She's happily married now to a friend she made during that time – Christopher White." He smiled awkwardly. "I showed up shortly after they got back from their honeymoon, in fact."

"Oh." Bonejangles took off his hat, twiddling with the brim. "Uh – feel like I oughta apologize for that. It was me and my boys that gave 'em the spook, after all. Didn't mean to screw up your life like that."

"I've never blamed you – any of you," Victor reassured him, putting a hand on his arm. "Yes, perhaps you could have come Upstairs a bit more quietly, but – even if you'd been the most sedate skeletons in existence, the Everglots still would have been frightened. And Galswells would have still ranted about demons. And Victoria. . .maybe if they hadn't fled, she could have convinced her parents to reconsider, or me to elope, but – we'll never know for sure." He shot Alice a smile. "At any rate, she's found someone she's happy with, and so have I."

"Still. . .you went through a lot of bullshit, didn't you?"

_**Forget and obey, Thirteen. . . .**_ Victor nodded slowly, his stomach knotted. "Yes, but – well. Like I said, we'll tell all at the pub."

"It's all ended well enough," Alice said, leaning up against him. Victor forced back his awareness of how warm her body was next to his. "We're good friends with Victoria and Christopher now." Her fingers twined with his. "And I don't think I'd be nearly as happy in the wake of Bumby's death as I am with Victor."

Lizzie beamed, eyes just a touch watery. "We're all thrilled for you. Both of you."

_You wouldn't be if you knew the kind of thoughts trying to invade my head right now. Perhaps I should let you do what you did to Bumby to me._ Victor nodded at her. "Thank you."

"Yeah, it's great, knowin' you two found each other," Bonejangles agreed, grinning. Then he swung his head over to Fixxler. "And somebody else besides – Dr. Fixxler, huh?"

"Jeremiah Jack Fixxler," Fixxler introduced himself. "Which I hope puts 'Jeremy' into perspective."

Bonejangles rolled his eye. "Fine, I'll give ya that. How'd a guy like you end up with these lily white folk?"

"Well, first Alice came into my shop looking for a cure to Victor's amnesia," Fixxler reported, ticking it off on his fingers. "And then when they both came back around to say thank you, turned out they knew less about magic than I first assumed and I ended up giving them the beginner's course."

Lizzie tilted her head, brow furrowed. "How do you mean? Did you think Victor came down to the Land of the Dead on his own to meet Emily?"

"No," Alice said, smirking. With a little shimmer, her form shifted to her Wonderland self, complete with blue dress and bloody apron. "He means I can apparently do this without even thinking about it."

Lizzie and Bonejangles both started. "Whoa! Looks like bein' able to cast False Flesh is a family thing, eh Liz?" Bonejangles said, straightening his hat.

"Even I have to rip a hanky in half, though. . .that is – rather a lot of red on your front," Liz observed, biting her lip.

"Wonderland's not nearly as nice as it was when I was a child," Alice replied, looking down.

"Not as nice? The Queen of Hearts wanted to take your head off when you first visited."

"She was a lot more proactive about it when I tumbled down there in Rutledge. And you don't even want to know what the Dollmaker attempted to do to me."

Lizzie's face darkened. "I have a nasty idea, given the name. Oh Alice. . . ." She put her arm around her sister's shoulders. "What I wouldn't give to rewind time back to those sunny days sitting by the Isis."

"Me too," Alice whispered, letting the illusion fade. She looked back at Dr. Fixxler. "Any spells that might let us do that? I mean, I don't suppose I have a hope of casting them. . . ."

"Papa already asked Elder Gutknecht once," Lizzie jumped in. "Not only does it require a vast amount of power, it also only allows you to observe – you can't change anything."

"You're basically in the same position as Scrooge in A Christmas Carol," Fixxler nodded. "A ghost watching other ghosts go about their business. You could refresh your memory of one of those sunny days, but that would be about it." He scratched under his hat. "So, uh, you're already familiar with Elder Gutknecht, Miss Liddell?"

"You can call me Lizzie – you brought my sister down here, you've earned it," Lizzie assured him. "And yes – the short version is, Sam and I met while he was on tour at Oxford, he told me about what happened between Victor and Emily, we became friends, and he took my parents and me here to see Elder Gutknecht about visiting Upstairs for a night to try and warn Alice about Bumby."

"Yeah, already knew he could pull the trick off thanks to Victor and Emily nearly gettin' hitched," Bonejangles nodded. "And figured this would be one o'those cases where he wouldn't mind us wanderin' around among the living."

Alice stopped short, staring. "Wait – so – when did you–"

"Halloween," Lizzie told her. "Elder Gutknecht told us it would be our best shot for what we wanted to do."

"Trip was a total bust, though," Bonejangles said, dipping his head. "Couldn't get near Bumby or find you. Musta wandered over a good half of London lookin' too."

Alice winced. "Ah. Yes, I – wasn't very well during my last few months with Bumby," she confessed quietly. "My hallucinations were running rampant, and so was I. Couldn't stay in one place for ten seconds altogether."

"Yes, we gathered that from some of those we spoke to." Lizzie squeezed Alice. "How are you now?"

"Better – Wonderland still insists on popping up in the world, but at least now I can see reality behind it," Alice told her. "And I've learned not to speak to my visions aloud, for the most part." She chuckled. "Actually, this visit is doctor-approved – the new head of Houndsditch, Dr. Wilson, is aware of the Land of the Dead, and he thought coming down here to – well – make peace with what happened might fix things. Make it so I stay more in the real world." She leaned up against Lizzie. "Frankly, though, right now I don't care if being here actually makes it all worse. It's all worth it to see you again."

"We're delighted to have you," Lizzie replied. "But I do hope this visit makes your brain quiet down. You've gone through quite enough in your life." She looked over at Victor, biting her lip. "Both of you have."

"You've gone through quite enough yourself," Victor reminded her, nodding at her exposed spine. "In life and death."

"This? I asked for this from a friendly maggot," Lizzie said, touching the bone. "Bastard left bruises, and I refused to go around for however long I'd be here with his mark on me. No-Rot keeps the rest of my flesh on me well enough. And, to tell the truth, I'm feeling much – lighter, these days. What with Bumby behind me." She flashed Bonejangles a smile. "And Sam at my side."

Victor blinked. That smile. . .had looked an awful lot like the ones Alice favored _him_ with. The same heart-melting warmth, the same playful glitter. . .and the way Bonejangles was looking back at her. . .could it be. . . ?

Alice was apparently having similar thoughts, glancing between the two. "Lizzie?"

"Yes, it took me _dying_ to find a man I found suitable," Lizzie responded with a giggle. "It's not my fault – he died before you were even born! I was five or six at most!"

"Yeah – reckon me and Liz hooked up about the same time you two hooked up," Bonejangles revealed, tipping his hat to an astonished Victor.

"I doubt it – Victor and I became official only recently," Alice said, blushing. "Largely because I'm a bit of a blind idiot when it comes to recognizing a man loves me."

"And I didn't speak up because I never thought she'd have me," Victor admitted, playing with his tie. _Given what I keep thinking of her now, I should have kept my mouth shut._ "And then there was. . .everything else. . . ."

Lizzie reached over to pat his shoulder. "Well, if it makes the two of you feel better, Sam was too frightened of getting rejected to confess to _me_ for a while. And it was only after I kind of forced it out of him that I realized I shared his feelings." She rubbed the back of her head. "Though you could probably blame that on me having a bit of _thing_ against any man not Papa for years. . .anyway, we're just going on mostly as we were before – taking things slow. But. . . ." She shared another smile with Bonejangles. "It's nice. It really is. Nothing like those bloody undergraduates."

Alice smiled too. "That's wonderful. We're all very happy for you, Lizzie."

"Thrilled," Victor agreed with a nod. "Even if it is a shame you could only meet after you died."

" _C'est la vie,_ as good old Paul says," Bonejangles shrugged. "I'm not gonna sweat it." He swiveled his skull back toward Fixxler. "You got yourself a beau?"

"Happy bachelor at the moment," Fixxler replied.

"Unless Elder Gutknecht will have him," Alice teased. "He's the whole reason we're here in Burtonsville instead of being gravely disappointed in Oxford."

Fixxler gave her a look. "I am merely an interested researcher hoping to meet one of the greatest in the field."

"Is that why you were bouncing all over the room when Dr. Wilson approved the trip?" Victor had to ask.

"Yes. That's how all interested researchers act."

A subtle tilt of the skull, and Bonejangles's skeletal grin became a smirk. "Suuuuure. You and Artie are gonna get along _just_ fine."

They reached the Ball & Socket with surprising speed – Bonejangles, as it turned out, knew his fair share of shortcuts through the twisty streets of the Downstairs village. "Ran errands for Mr. and Mrs. Brewster back in the day, 'fore I set out with my music," he explained, leading them through an alley. "Mr. Brewster always offered half a shillin' more if you got back within a half-hour, so I learned the quickest way to every place in Burtonsville from their house pretty fast. Just sorta kept up the habit when I cacked it." He grinned and waved dramatically as the creaky old sign sporting his own elongated jaw appeared before them. "Here we are! _Creme de la creme_ of taverns. In my humble opinion, anyway."

"I'm sure," Alice smirked. "Would you say that if you _didn't_ have such an obvious stake in the place?"

"Hey, I _earned_ that sign."

"He really is talented," Lizzie agreed. Then, lightly nudging his ribs, she added, "Though he _could_ stand to brag about it less."

"If I'd been more modest, you might not have come and seen me that night," Bonejangles retorted, nudging her back. "And then where would we be?"

"I imagine you'd be here and Lizzie would still be in Oxford," Alice replied, standing on tiptoe to peek in through the nearest window. "I'll give you that it looks nicer than the Flaming Stallion or the Elephant's Elbow. Hopefully the clientele are a little less rowdy."

"Depends on how much poison Paul's been pushin'," Bonejangles grinned. "Tonight, though? With Victor back and the famous Liddell sister at his side? And a newcomer besides? Everybody's gonna be all fired up!"

Alice raised an eyebrow. "I'd rather not be swarmed like I have a school of Snarks on my tail, if it's all the same to everyone."

"Good luck," Victor said, holding back a giggle.

"We'll try to keep it down to a dull roar, but – they're a very enthusiastic crowd," Lizzie admitted. "Nice, of course, but – well, you should have seen the welcome we got when we first arrived! Ms. Plum nearly crushed me on the spot!"

"Mmmmm. . . ." Fixxler fiddled with his fingers. "Nobody's going to have a problem with me, are they? I hate to ask, everyone's been very nice so far, but – you didn't see them Upstairs."

"Anybody gives ya a problem, I'll knock their block off," Bonejangles promised, waving a skeletal fist. "You got a right ta be here, same as everybody else. Gotta say, though, people loosen up around here once they bite the big one." He held up his arm. "'Specially when they see we're all the same color inside."

Fixxler snorted. "True. Though I've had one fellow come in who, upon seeing me accidentally cut myself, was shocked my blood was as red as his. Probably believed my bones were black too."

"I sincerely apologize that there are so many idiots in the world," Lizzie sighed, rolling her eyes as she headed for the entrance. "But really, the worst you should get in here are a few smelly burps in your face."

"So no worse than some of my clients in Whitechapel. Good."

Lizzie chuckled and opened the door. "Wait to say that until you've _smelt_ them."

"It can't be any worse than the rot," Victor joked as he stepped inside.

"VICTOR!"

And was promptly bowled right back out again by Ms. Plum. "How good to see you again!" she cried, hugging him tight. "Oh, we were all so worried when Mrs. Carter told us what was going on with that awful Galswells – and Bonejangles said you'd gotten stuck in _Whitechapel_?"

"Not by choice," Victor said, just managing to stay upright with his fingertips clinging to the door frame. He patted her back with his free hand. "It's good to see you too, Ms. Plum. How are things?"

"Oh, fine, fine – and _you_ must be Alice!" Ms. Plum declared, snatching her up in an embrace before she could get away. "Your sister told us all about you, _and_ that awful, awful Bumby – we're so glad to see you well!"

"Thank you," Alice said, carefully extracting herself from Ms. Plum's grip. "Ah, this is our friend, Dr. Fixxler. He owns a magic store in Whitechapel."

"Ma'am," Fixxler said, tipping his hat.

"Oh, don't start with that," Ms. Plum said with a playful swat. "I was only 58 when the flu took me!" She grabbed both his hands and gave them a shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure. You three come in and make yourselves at home! Afraid I can't stay and chat – got something in the oven for you all! Don't worry, no noses," she added, wagging a finger at Victor.

Victor laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Thanks. I'm sorry, it's just–"

"It's fine, dear, I understand – bit hard to remember how to cook for a living stomach! But I think you'll like this." She hauled everyone inside, grinning at all and sundry. "Guests of honor have arrived, everyone!"

A general cheer went up from the assembled corpses. "A toast to the Live Groom!" General Bonesaparte cried from his perch beside the pool table – Victor noted with amusement he'd replaced his sword with a pool cue. "Emily's favorite young man!"

"A toast to Whitechapel's Merry Murderess!" General Wellington added, raising his glass high. "Congratulations on giving that scoundrel Bumby what-for!"

"A toast to – to – who are you?" a skeleton called in the direction of Fixxler.

"Dr. J. J. Fixxler!" Fixxler called back.

"He's the one who got us down here!" Alice provided, sniggering.

"A toast to that then!" Glasses and mugs and bones clattered together, and a rainbow of various drinks disappeared down various gullets (and in some cases, promptly reappeared back on the floor). "Hip hip hooray!"

" _Alice!_ "

Two new figures broke through the crowd – a bearded man and a woman with close-cropped red hair, both still displaying obvious burn marks despite over a decade of decay. "Mama! Papa!" Alice rushed into their arms, prompting a pub-wide "awwwwww." "I've missed you so. . . ."

"We've missed you!" Mrs. Liddell gave her daughter a tight squeeze, then held her at arm's length. "Oh, Alice, look at you. You're all grown up."

"A fine young lady," Mr. Liddell agreed, then sighed. "I wish we'd been there to see it happen."

"What, you wanted to watch me lying catatonic in Rutledge for ten years?" Alice joked with a weak smile.

Mr. Liddell harrumphed. "I still can't believe they put you in there! A mere child! My daughter deserved better!"

"What we deserve and what we get are two very different things, Papa." Alice took her father's hand, tracing over the burns stretched across his palm with a finger. "As you well know."

Mr. Liddell sighed again. "That I do. . .at least now that wretched Bumby is dead and gone. One less thing to worry about."

"Indeed," Mrs. Liddell nodded, before turning to Fixxler. "Dr. Fixxler, you said? Good to meet you, sir – Lorina Liddell, and this is my husband Arthur. Thank you so much for bringing them down here."

"My pleasure," Fixxler assured her, shaking hands. "Your daughter is a very interesting young lady."

Mr. and Mrs. Liddell shared an amused look. "How many times have we heard _that_ over the years. . .I'll assume you're the rare fellow who means it in the positive sense," Mr. Liddell said. He turned to Victor, face softening. "So _you're_ the famous Victor." He offered his hand. "It's good to meet you at last. We've heard quite a lot about you."

"G-good things, I hope," Victor said, taking it and trying to ignore the way it crunched in his grip. _A_ _nd I thought I was nervous at the Everglots. ._ _.stand up straight, make eye contact, smile. . . ._

"About you, yes," Mrs. Liddell said, touching his side. "About your situation. . . ." She hesitated as a dark cloud seemed to pass over the group. "Well. It's just good to see you up and about, really."

"Very much so," Mr. Liddell agreed. He scanned the pub. "Why don't we go back to our own table and have a proper chat, away from prying ears? Carolina's keeping it safe for us."

"Carolina?" Alice repeated.

"My ma," Bonejangles explained proudly. "Kicked the bucket last year. And sounds like a good idea to me." He waved back the corpses crowding in to say hello. "Oi, show's over, folks! Give the livin' some breathin' room, they actually need it!"

"But why's he with Lizzie's sister?" a childish voice piped up from table leg height. "I thought he was marrying that sad lady in the dress!"

"Whatever happened to those Everglots anyway? Heard they vanished!" a skeleton agreed.

"You really spent a year in Whitechapel, Victor?" Ethel's friend asked. "Because your parents thought you mad?"

"Barmier than a box of barnacles if they thought sending him _there_ would cure him," Wellington said.

"It's all a very long story," Victor said, holding up his hands. "Let me talk to my friends, and then Bonejangles can make a song out of it and explain it better than I ever could."

Bonejangles laughed. "Outta what happened to you? That's a whole musical! Honored you think me up to it, though." He swept his arm through the air. "You heard the man – you'll hear about it all soon enough! For now – NEXT ROUND'S ON ME!"

The cheer that followed that announcement was louder than the first. The crowd parted, corpses of all stripes hurrying to the bar and allowing them access to the back tables. "That'll keep 'em quiet for a while," Bonejangles said, taking Lizzie's arm and leading the way through the little maze. "Though you're probably gonna have your arm pumped off before the night's over, Victor."

"So long as I'm prepared for it," Victor replied, smiling. "After what happened Upstairs, it's just nice to be liked again."

"Oh, trust me, almost everyone here had something kind to say about you," Mrs. Liddell told him with a smile. "You left quite the impression."

"Well, it ain't every day that we get a breather down here," Bonejangles pointed out. He waved at a corpse, much bluer and fresher looking than the Liddells, seated at a nearby table. "Hey, Ma! Can you believe it?"

"Barely!" the woman said, standing up to greet everyone. "If it hadn't been Ethel announcing the news, I would have thrown it off as a prank!" She extended her hand to Victor. "So you're the famous Living Groom. Lovely to meet you at last. Carolina Thatcher – you're acquainted already with my son."

"And your daughter, actually," Victor said, shaking. "June's working in Houndsditch now."

"What – she is?" Mrs. Thatcher blinked. "When did that happen?"

"Bumby hired her as my replacement when it looked like I'd finally wandered off for good – don't worry, she arrived _after_ he died," Alice added quickly as poor Mrs. Thatcher's eyes went wide with horror. "In fact, she was on the same train I shoved him in front of. Finding her waiting at the Home when I returned was a surprise, but a good one. She's been invaluable in keeping the place running." She grinned. " _Particularly_ with the daily meals."

Mrs. Thatcher sighed, relieved. "Good, good. I was worried that she wouldn't find anywhere to go after I passed." She twisted her hands together. "Though I dread to think what might have happened if she'd arrived at Houndsditch earlier."

"Let's not go there," Lizzie said, glancing between Victor and Alice. "It's bad enough thinking about the lives that bastard _did_ ruin."

"True enough." Mrs. Thatcher offered her hand to Alice. "Pleasure to meet you too, my dear – your parents and sister are truly lovely people. I'm glad my Sam and your Lizzie found each other."

"I am too," Alice nodded, accepting the handshake. "And I'm glad for the chance to finally meet Sam, after hearing so many stories about him."

"Hope I live up to the hype," Bonejangles joked.

Alice winked at him. "So far, so good."

Mrs. Thatcher giggled, then turned to Fixxler. "And you're – oh."

Fixxler's hand paused halfway to his hat. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing," Mrs. Thatcher assured him, shaking off her surprise. "It's just. . .the last time I saw skin that dark, it was – on my husband." She sighed. "Whom I have many mixed feelings about. Just tell me your name isn't John."

"Jeremiah, actually," Fixxler said with an awkward grin, letting his natural accent slip through. "It's your own fault if you're from Alabama, though."

"Well, _I'm_ from Rhode Island, but John and I met in Louisiana. And then had to run from it, which I suppose involved _passing_ through Alabama. . .that's quite a gift with voices you have there," she added, tilting her head. "I wouldn't have suspected you were American when you first spoke."

"He has a ridiculous Transylvanian one he does for customers at his shop," Alice said, snickering. "I had to tell him to cut it out when we first met."

"Ridiculous sells," Fixxler argued, grinning. "People enjoy vhen they think they're getting something overrrr on the poorrrr, stupid foreignerrr!"

"Which is a most telling indictment of the human race," Lizzie said, counting heads before grabbing a chair from a nearby table. "Sam, could you help me out here?"

"On it, Liz," Bonejangles said, picking up two seats and setting the first behind Lizzie. "For you, milady. And I guess you can sit too," he added, handing the second to Fixxler.

"Much obliged," Fixxler replied blandly, settling himself in.

Victor pulled out a chair for Alice. "It is lovely to meet you all – but – I – I confess, I'm a l-little lost for words," he admitted, drumming his fingers against the back. "I didn't think – we c-came here as sort of a – a test run. Because Dr. Fixxler w-wanted to meet Elder Gutknecht, and I wanted t-to be here for the anniversary of meeting Emily. We didn't expect–" _"We happened to be in London when a certain doctor died. He let a few things – slip."_ "I-I didn't realize that you–" _"About you, yes. About your situation. . . ."_

Alice put her hand over his. "We were prepared to meet you in Oxford," she took over as she sat down, looking between her parents and Lizzie. "And to do a lot more explaining about what's been going on Upstairs."

"We still have plenty of questions for you," Mr. Liddell said, ushering his wife into a seat. "Top of the list being how on earth you even came into Bumby's 'care.'"

"We heard your parents sent you to him," Mrs. Liddell added to Victor. "How they ever considered him a suitable doctor. . .then again, we've whiled away many an hour wondering how he passed his exams at all."

"In my experience, most doctors are cut from similarly arrogant cloth – he probably fit right in," Alice said bitterly. "Though I would hope most of them aren't as vile inside as he proved to be. You can thank Rutledge night nurse Pris Witless for sending me to his Home. She was the one who recommended him for my case. He'd been following it since the beginning, according to her – I bet he was. Probably hoping I'd suffer an accident before I remembered him." She slumped in her seat. "She got fired shortly afterward for not being quick enough to hide her Blue Ruin when the superintendent came calling. I'd declare it some small attempt at cosmic justice if she hadn't proceeded to start shaking me down for money every chance she got."

"Disgusting," Mr. Liddell growled. "As if it wasn't bad enough your being there. . .do you even _have_ an inheritance, anymore? Or do I have to find my way Upstairs to have a little _talk_ with Radcliffe?"

"Papa's never forgiven him for accusing you of starting the fire," Lizzie told Alice.

"Why should I? Scoundrel was likely looking for excuses to loot the trust fund." Mr. Liddell huffed and leaned heavily on a hand. "Why did I ever let him talk me into signing his name onto those papers. . . ."

"He didn't get it all," Alice reassured him. "Nor did Rutledge or Bumby. I'm still in possession of roughly 1,500 pounds. And he's moved off to Sheffield, so I need never lay eyes on him again unless for some reason I end up working in a steel factory."

"I'm a little surprised he didn't just run off to the Orient and be done with it, given his collection," Mrs. Liddell remarked. "But good, I'm glad." She fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to share some of it with poor Nan Sharpe? Lizzie told us she's – fallen on hard times."

"Oh, so you dropped by the docks on that trip of yours?" Alice said, looking back at Lizzie.

Lizzie nodded, shuddering. "We didn't see Nanny directly – Sam just happened to bump into one of her – ladies." She rubbed her arms. "How can any woman _do_ that? Just – lie there and let men take – l-liberties?"

_**Because some men won't give them a choice,**_ the voice hissed in Victor's ear. **_Would you, if you thought you could get away with it?_**

_Don't you dare,_ Victor thought back, clenching a fist under the table. _You know that I've never once gone after a prostitute._

_**No, you save your** _ **lusts** **_for the more innocent – better to utterly destroy someone you love rather than give some old hag a few coins, right?_ **

_I have done neither and will do neither. Go away!_

"Some of them feel they have no other choice," Alice told Lizzie, tracing a circle on the table with her finger. "And, to be fair, Nanny seems to make a decent wage from her stable of girls. I've offered her some of the inheritance, but she's refused. Says she has enough to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. I'd _like_ to get her out of the business, but. . . ." She shrugged. "You know Nanny. Stubborn as a mule when she has the mind to be, and she often does."

Lizzie shook her head, spine creaking. "I'll never understand it. She could have done anything else. . .and what about that brute I ran into Upstairs? He seemed to know her – and you too, Alice! And Victor as well!"

"Wait, what? Which brute?" Alice asked, holding up her hands. "There's plenty to pick from in Billingsgate."

"Some awful man wrapped in a fur coat – I never did get his name," Lizzie admitted, her anger cooling a touch. "But he thought I was you for a moment – and he was going to cut off one of my fingers and send it to Victor just to see how he'd react!"

"What?" Victor stared at her a moment. "He – he was – but why–"

And then it all clicked together in his mind. His eyebrows went low as his jaw tightened. "Oh. . .I _should_ have finished the job."

"I would have let you if we hadn't been in the middle of a crowd," Alice said, patting his back.

"Most of them were cheering me on!"

"That may be so, but put a bobby amongst them and at least half would have sold you out just to keep themselves from falling under suspicion."

The Liddells, Mrs. Thatcher, and Bonejangles exchanged some puzzled looks. "Beg pardon?" Mrs. Thatcher asked.

"Oh – the man you met upstairs was Nanny's old pimp, actually," Alice informed Lizzie. "A waste of skin that goes by the name of Jack Splatter. Victor nearly strangled him to death about a week or so ago."

The silence that followed this pronouncement was tangible. "You did – what?" Mr. Liddell managed after a moment. "I mean, not that I'm really judging, given what he tried to do to poor Lizzie, but. . . ."

"They have a bit of a feud going," Alice explained as Victor blushed. "Or, they did, anyway, until Victor finally put him into his place."

"Holy SHIT!"

Bonejangles abruptly slammed the table with a hand, hard enough to vibrate his eye out of his socket. "What – ah, damn – but it's you!" he cried, jabbing Victor in the arm with his finger. "I never would have believed it! _You're_ the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel!"

"What – ah – you know about _that_ too?!" Victor babbled, trying desperately to get his bearings again. And here he thought he was finally on solid ground, conversation-wise. " _How_?!"

"Last time we were in London, from a couple of new arrivals! We do kinda a loop-de-loop," Bonejangles said, tracing a circle in the air before leaning down and retrieving his eye from the floor. "Oxford, London, Burtonsville, back again."

"We help keep an eye on the children in the Downstairs version of Houndsditch," Mrs. Liddell explained further. "We also got into the habit of keeping up on the local gossip while we were waiting to get Upstairs to see you. . .we weren't sure what to make of this 'Swell' business though. Something about punching unconscious the hardest man in the East End?"

"And running into a burning building for a prostitute?" Mr. Liddell added.

"I – er – um – I d-didn't realize Nanny was in there at the time–" Victor blurted.

"Wait, _Nanny_? You saved Nanny from a fire?" Lizzie asked, eyes wide.

"Sort of – he went in there for me," Alice explained, touching Victor's shoulder. "What happened is, I went to see Nanny at the Mermaid after an – episode left me half-drowned in the Thames. Splatter forced his way in and beat her for not giving him a share of her profits. Then he knocked over her lamp, intending to burn the place down. I tried to stop him, but he knocked me unconscious. Victor, by some miracle, was looking for me on the docks that morning, and encountered Splatter outside the burning building. After Splatter revealed he'd left me in there and tried to stop Victor saving me, Victor punched him into a bunch of packing crates, ran inside, and got me out. _After_ I stopped struggling with him thinking he was a Wonderlander I didn't particularly care for," she added with a blush. "Nanny recovered enough to more or less save herself, though I'm sure Victor stopping her from having to deal with my delusional arse helped."

There was a very intense silence. "And that Splatter person is _not_ in the Land of the Dead right now _why_?" Lizzie finally asked, voice as sharp and cold and flint.

"Again, I would have been happy to let Victor choke the last vestiges of life from him if it weren't for the fact we were on a crowded street," Alice said, pinching her nose. "My desire to keep Victor in the Land of the Living with me for the immediate future outweighs my belief that Splatter does deserve to die for his crimes against humanity." She rubbed Victor's back. "Not to mention I didn't particularly want Victor to bloody his hands. I think one murder per couple is more than enough."

Victor pressed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't – I don't really _want_ to be a thug, just – s-sometimes I get so _angry_ –"

"Are you _apologizing_ for saving my sister's life, you goof?" Lizzie asked, leaning down to peek between his fingers. "As if I wouldn't have done the same thing to Splatter if I'd been there! Bloody hell, when the False Flesh spell wore off in front of him during my and Sam's trip, I made him piss his pants in fear! I'm hardly innocent!"

"Yeah – you shoulda _seen_ what she did to Bumby when he ended up down here," Bonejangles agreed. "Even if he _hadn't_ got eaten by a blob monster little while later, there was _no_ way he was hurting any more innocent girls."

Victor peeked over his fingertips. "I – blob monster?"

"Big black oily thing with lots of doll faces all over it," Bonejangles elaborated, shuddering. "Creepy as all get out."

Alice blinked. "Big black – Bumby was eaten by a _Ruin_?"

Another interesting silence fell over the table. ". . .How do you know what that was?" Lizzie asked after a moment, clearly rattled.

"Because they're from _me_! Look – the way I dealt with both your deaths and with Bumby's corruption was to revisit Wonderland and fight my way across it," Alice said, faking swinging her Vorpal Blade. "The first time, in Rutledge, the enemies were all native residents – Card Guards, Snarks, wild Roses, Chess warriors, Fire Imps, Jabberspawn. Creatures that belonged there. But the second time, in Houndsditch, while some of the natives were still lined up against me, the most common enemy I battled was a black blob monster adorned with china doll faces. There were many variations – the one you describe sounds like a Colossal Ruin, the biggest and most terrible of the lot – but they were all cut from the same cloth. And they all came from the Dollmaker – Bumby's avatar in my mind. They symbolized the lives he ruined – the way he would take a person and tear them down into something not even recognizable as human. But I certainly never saw one in _reality –_ only in Wonderland." She looked over at Dr. Fixxler. "How on earth could something from my mind devour Bumby after he died?"

"That's an – interesting question," Fixxler said, rubbing his chin. "Given what my grandpop told me about the slave-owners and other bastards he saw go Down, I thought being dragged off to Hell corresponded directly to your own sins."

"That's how Barkis went, according to Bloated Barry – a bunch of his old beaus ganged up on him," Bonejangles said, rolling his eye from socket to socket. "Though – thinkin' about it, that means Emily got him too, didn't she? 'Cept we already _know_ she went Up for good, and I'm pretty sure she was done with his sorry arse no matter what when she did."

"Perhaps it wasn't really Emily – just some phantom of her conjured up to punish him," Victor suggested. "I mean, I have no idea how this whole process works, so it's possible, right?"

"But then why go with something from Alice's mind for Bumby?" Lizzie asked. "It would have been weird to see some spectral version of myself fall upon him, but it also would have made more sense."

"Unless. . .unless the images are pulled from the hellbound's own mind," Fixxler said, tapping his fingers against his cheek. "Good old Mr. Hartstead would have seen his fair share of whips in his day, and Barkis likely never really forgot any of the women he killed. . .did you ever _tell_ Bumby about the Ruins, Alice?"

"I did!" Alice said, snapping her fingers. "There was a break in between the incident at the Mermaid and my wandering off again after a visit to Radcliffe's gone wrong, and I brought them up during some of my therapy sessions. Bumby seemed reasonably disturbed by them."

"So I suppose God, or whichever force He's deemed in charge of all this, considered it an appropriate method to yank him into eternal torment," Lizzie nodded slowly. "Well, far be it from me to second-guess the creator of the universe. I just would have found it more satisfying if it hadn't scared all of us nearly to death all over again."

"They're not pleasant creatures to look upon, no," Alice confirmed. "Or to kill. You're lucky you didn't have to go up against one. I took a beating from the Colossals every time I faced one in Wonderland."

"Oh, darling. . . ." Mrs. Liddell reached across to take her daughter's hand. "I'm so sorry for you. I remember all those stories you told us about that place when you were small. All those silly, mad creatures, all those fantastic little worlds. . .and now you're having to – to _kill_ your way across it?"

"To be fair, Lorina, she kept stealing the carving knife going up against dragons there," Mr. Liddell reminded her. "And there was that incident with the Hobby Horse and Nan Sharpe's head."

Alice chuckled. "I've still got both of those, in a way – they were important weapons during my sojourns into insanity. Along with a gun-like pepper grinder, an exploding jack-in-the-box, a razor-edged deck of cards, a magical wand made of ice, a teapot that fired like a cannon. . .I had a lot more to defend myself against than just the Jabberwock, though."

"But why would Wonderland turn against you so thoroughly?" Mrs. Liddell asked. "I know you didn't always get along with your imaginary playmates, but – you make it sound like every last one of them wanted you dead!"

"Not every one, but – most of them," Alice said, looking away. "At least right after the fire. Because. . . ." She sniffled. "Because _I_ wanted me dead. Even this last time, with some of my enemies helping me, there were enough creatures who sought my slaughter, because. . .I saw him," she abruptly confessed, turning back to the table with watery eyes. "That night. W-what he did to you, Lizzie, it – it woke me up. I t-thought you were having a nightmare. And then, w-when he crept out of your room, it was d-dark, and I didn't r-recognize him, and I am s-so so sorry. . . ."

"Oh, _Alice_!" Lizzie sprang from her seat, coming around Victor to pull her sister into an embrace. Her parents quickly followed. "Alice, it wasn't your fault! Not at all! You were _eight_! And you just said you didn't recognize him! How were you supposed to, half-asleep in the middle of the bloody night?"

"But I j-just ran away to Wonderland! Darted off a-after the Hatter to a damned tea party!" Alice choked out, tears streaming down her face. "I could h-have at least _screamed_!"

"Honey, you know how hard it is to wake us once we've gone to sleep," Mrs. Liddell told her, stroking her hair. "We probably wouldn't have even heard."

"For God's sake, the house was already a lost cause by the time the smoke stirred us," Mr. Liddell agreed.

"And – and I was a lost cause long before that," Lizzie whispered, touching her spine again. "You couldn't have saved us all no matter what you did."

"I – I know that," Alice said, wiping her eyes. Victor pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. "Thank you. . .somewhere in my head, I understand that. I've told myself it wasn't my fault a thousand times. It's just. . . ." She waved a hand up and down their bodies. "Seeing you like _this_. . . ."

Mrs. Liddell touched what little was left of her nose. "No-Rot potions only go so far," she said in a slightly embarrassed tone. "But it happens to everyone down here. We're used to it."

"And we're happy," Mr. Liddell added, rubbing Alice's shoulder. "We've made a pretty good afterlife for ourselves down here. We have friends, we have hobbies – I'm still teaching, in fact! To a rather shorter set of students, but they're more eager to learn than most of the undergraduates ever were."

"I actually found a man I can _stand_ ," Lizzie reminded her, patting Bonejangles on the head. "That's a definite _improvement_ over my breathing life. Yes, we all wish that we could have survived that wretched night – that Bumby had never come into our lives. But the Land of the Dead isn't a bad place to be." She took Alice's chin and made her look into her eyes. "And I will _not_ have my baby sister blaming herself for something she barely even understood at the time."

Alice managed a wet smile. "I think _you're_ the baby sister now, Lizzie."

"Hey – just because you're technically older than me these days doesn't erase the fact that I was born first." Lizzie released her chin, face softening. "Look, I understand – I've wondered at times if I really did lead that bastard on, or if I'd fought just a bit harder. . .but Alice, none of us have ever blamed you. All we ever wanted was for you to have a decent life Upstairs."

"Sorry to disappoint." Alice sighed and rubbed her face. "It still amazes me that I didn't recognize him the moment he walked into my cell at Rutledge. Maybe I didn't have much of a chance of saving you. . .but if I hadn't forgotten, could I have spared more souls at Houndsditch? Could I have kept a few children off the block?" Her eyes slid to Victor. "Could I have. . . ."

"Alice, please," Victor said, taking her hand. "You were struggling against your own brain. You'd only just regained any grip on sanity at all. No one can say you weren't trying your hardest. _I'm_ the idiot who didn't cotton on to him in time. The one who had the chance to expose him after finding that journal. If I hadn't tripped while running out of his office–"

"Don't you dare blame yourself either," Lizzie cut in, silencing him with a finger on his lips. "Bumby had a nasty habit of making rich and important friends – it's why Papa had to tolerate him at the university. He could play at being a decent human being if he had to. So you tripped – so what? Anybody could have. It doesn't justify what he did to you." Her eyes darkened. "Did you get called a tease too?"

_"He is frustration personified! The way he parades around, pretending to be all shy and innocent – the boy violated the sanctity of marriage with a corpse! The least he could do is allow me to bend him over my desk!"_ "Yes," Victor said, shuddering. "He – he e-even brought up you when he. . .he. . . ." _No, no, don't you_ dare _start crying, you have spent_ enough _time being weak. . . ._

He started as an arm slid around him, and looked up to see Mrs. Liddell at his side. "You poor, poor boy," she whispered. "We've heard a few of the stories from the children at Houndsditch. About how he made them forget everything before selling them to these. . . ." She stopped, unable to put voice to the words. "Did he do the same to you?"

Victor nodded. "W-without the sale part. K-kept me for himself. Made me. . . ." He stared down at the table, gritting his teeth against the influx of memories. _Why does it still hurt so much? Why can't I just move on?_

_**Because you know you enjoyed it,**_ the voice whispered. _**Know it's really all you're good for. Otherwise, why would you want to do it again so badly?**_

Victor rapidly shook his head. "No, I don't – I – I shouldn't – i-it was only a week–"

" _Only_ a week?" Bonejangles repeated, incredulous. "Sounds bloody long enough to me! Especially with the things he hinted he was doing durin' it!"

"Still – what he did to Lizzie was worse!"

"Apples and oranges, Victor," Lizzie responded. "Yes, he tore away my innocence and my life – but he only did it once. And he left me my mind and will! You. . .he kept calling you _Thirteen –_ like your name didn't even matter!" She scrubbed her face. "Ugh. . .if only I'd been able to force myself past those gonophs. . . ."

Confusion managed to slip past all the bad feelings swirling about Victor's head. "What?"

Lizzie sighed. "During the trip to London Above, Sam and I visited Houndsditch," she explained. "I was posing as a long-lost cousin of the family, looking for Alice. The little girl who greeted us told us Bumby was upstairs with Thirteen – in fact, she nearly said your name. We thought it was another child and came _this_ close to sneaking inside to attempt a rescue. . . ." Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the floor. "But we stumbled upon three of his 'customers' around the back door, and I couldn't get my feet to move."

"I don't blame you," Victor said immediately, hating that broken look on her face. It was much, much too similar to Alice's when she'd given up. "I – I probably couldn't have either, in your place. And, f-frankly? I don't. . . ." He scrubbed his tongue against his teeth, trying to get rid of a certain phantom taste as the voice giggled. "I don't think I would have wanted you to see me like I w-was just then."

"I think we're all getting a little too caught up in the past," Mr. Liddell declared, putting a hand on Lizzie and Alice's shoulders. "Personally, I've never quite forgiven myself for giving Bumby the perfect fuel by keeping my photography chemicals in the library. But we can't keep running down those self-pitying paths every time the fire or that arse comes up. What happened, happened. We can only make the best of what we have left." He patted Alice's head. "Like Lizzie said – we're doing fine here in the Land of the Dead. None of us have ever blamed you for our deaths. And, frankly? I am so proud of you for enduring everything you did. You are the bravest young lady I have ever known, my girl. And I'm glad you were able to send Bumby to his death and get away with it."

Alice smiled again, much more genuinely. "Thank you, Papa." She dabbed at her eyes again. "Cheshire agrees with you, by the by. Says I'm threatening to go in circles again. Not like I mean to, mangy thing."

Mr. Liddell chuckled, then turned his attentions to Victor. "And as for you – Bumby fooled all my colleagues at school, plus whoever knows how many people as the owner of Houndsditch. And what he did to you was reprehensible. We're all thankful you were able to overcome it."

"Yeah, even if it makes me want to go next Halloween to give your parents a spook like we did the Everglots," Bonejangles grumbled. "Sendin' you off to him and all. . .how the hell could they think you were loopy?"

"Sam, language," Mrs. Thatcher put in, shaking a finger.

"I've heard worse, Mrs. Thatcher," Alice said. "Goodness, I've _said_ worse."

"Me too," Victor admitted, coloring again. "And the trouble is, they weren't around when the mass rising happened. They were out on the road looking for me. And getting lost after Mayhew died in his seat. . .they only came back after everything had calmed down again."

Bonejangles tilted his hat to substitute for crooking an eyebrow. "Huh. And the fact the pastor was going on about devils invading the whole place?"

"I didn't believe him either, Sam," Mrs. Thatcher said, sighing. "Remember what I said when I first arrived? We thought the town crier had gone a bit loopy himself. And no one seemed to want to talk about it when we did visit the village."

"Because of Galswells, probably," Victor said. "Though by the time we found Victoria's parents and _they_ backed me up, I think mine just didn't want to believe. They'd spent too much time and effort on trying to _cure_ me. And Mother does _not_ like to admit she's ever wrong."

Lizzie pulled a face. "Alice, I hate to say this, but I think you're going to end up with rather – unpleasant in-laws."

"Oh, I'm only marrying him for his money," Alice said flippantly, laying her head on Victor's shoulder. "At least, that's what Nell believed – right before I let slip that Papa helped educate the sons of lords and ladies. _You_ don't happen to have a list of all those of noble lineage who passed through the halls of Christ Church, do you, Papa? She wanted one so she could send out invitations for an event that won't be happening for months yet."

"If I did, it crumbled to dust long ago," Mr. Liddell said, rolling his eyes. "And considering I happily failed a good number of them, they're probably not interested in renewing the acquaintance. She'll have to find her own peers to bother."

"I'm just glad she isn't capable of bothering you personally," Victor said, tugging on his tie. "You probably wouldn't let me _near_ your daughter otherwise." _Not that you should anyway. . . ._

"Nonsense," Mrs. Liddell told him. "According to all accounts, you're a fine young man."

"Indeed – and, more importantly, you make our Alice happy," Mr. Liddell agreed, smiling. "Just keep doing that and we'll all get along perfectly."

_**Which means, sooner or later, you won't be getting on at all,**_ the voice sniggered. **_You can't hide what you're truly like forever. You think you fear losing Alice? What about her whole family? And all your other friends besides?_**

_I haven't lost them yet – and you are_ not _what I'm truly like,_ Victor shot back. _You're just some_ disease _I have to cure myself of. And I will. As you so lovingly point out, I've got too much at stake._

_**Oh, keep telling yourself that. . . .** _

"Food's up!"

Victor didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see Ms. Plum in his life. She and the taller of her two assistants scurried over to the table, Paul riding on her shoulder. "We've got spider-egg tarts for our native folks," she said, setting a dusty-looking tray of pastries filled with a strange white glop in the middle of the table. "And for our living guests. . . ." Her assistant set a somewhat-cleaner tray in front of Victor and Alice. "Chocolate!"

Victor examined the food closely. Both pastry and filling looked as fresh as any you'd find Upstairs. And no sign of body parts, just like she'd promised. "I didn't know you got chocolate down here," he admitted, picking one up.

"You'd be surprised how many people die with a snack on them," Ms. Plum replied, dusting her hands off on her apron. "We got these just last month – traveling salesman who'd had a carriage accident. Sample case was thrust right through him! I've been saving them for a special occasion." She adjusted her chef's hat. "Though I admit, this is batch number two. Added a pinch of belladonna to the first one without thinking." She clapped her hands. "Ah well, we'll eat it up."

Alice and Fixxler fixed the tarts with dubious looks. Victor couldn't blame them – neither the story of how the chocolate had gotten Downstairs, nor the knowledge that adding poison to food was second nature to Ms. Plum at this point, was doing much for his appetite. Still, that was no reason to be impolite. "Thank you. It's very sweet of you."

"Well, we've missed you!" Ms. Plum replied, taking his hand and patting it. "And we've all been rather worried, what with the news that's come from Gertrude and your friends here. Such awful nonsense going on up there. . . ." She tilted her head, hitting him with a motherly stare. "You're all right, dear?"

_I've been forced back into a village I hate, had mud thrown on me by a near-lynch mob, endured a horrible and awkward tea with my parents, had all my worst memories dragged to the surface again – and I'm still terrified I'm going to succumb to my inner darkness and lose the best person I've ever met._ "I'm fine," Victor said, forcing a smile.

"You're sure?"

Victor looked around the table – at the Liddells, Mrs. Thatcher and Bonejangles, Fixxler, and Alice. _On the other hand. . .I'm currently in my favorite pub, surrounded by people who actually like me, having a nice chat with what I hope to be my future in-laws, being reminded that Bumby got his and can never hurt anyone again – and I'm sitting next to the woman who – despite everything – still believes in me._ He nodded, the smile softening into something more genuine. "Yes."

"Good," Paul said with a little nod, the wings on his roach "bow tie" fluttering. "Anyzing to drink for ze table? I assure you, we have both ze best poison and ze best liquor!"

"I wouldn't say no to a little brandy," Mr. Liddell said, going around to resume his seat.

"I'll have some brandy too, if you don't mind," Fixxler nodded.

"A third for me," Mrs. Liddell added.

"I'll take a whiskey," Bonejangles said, holding up a finger.

"Just some carrot juice with arsenic for me," Lizzie said.

"I'm fine, thank you," Mrs. Thatcher said, waving her hand.

"Er – neither of us drink, honestly, so just some water, please?" Victor asked, looking to Alice for confirmation. She nodded. "Yes, waters."

"Three brandies, whiskey, carrot with arsenic, and two waters," Paul repeated. "Very good! We shall return shortly!" He swiveled his head around as Ms. Plum took him back to the bar. "Up, up, my little friends! We have drinks to pour!"

"Thank you, Paul!" Mrs. Liddell called after him, before scooping up one of the spider-egg tarts and biting into it. "Mmmmm. . .sometimes I wish we'd met Ms. Plum while we were all alive. I would have happily hired her as a cook."

"The woman does have a talent for pastry," Mr. Liddell agreed, taking a tart of his own.

Alice side-eyed them. "You know, I'm probably one to talk, given I've had Whitechapel street food more than once in my life, but – how on earth can you _eat_ that?!"

Mrs. Liddell giggled. "You get used to it, dear. The ingredients are extreme, yes, but we simply can't taste anything else."

"The tongue is apparently one of the first things to go," Mrs. Thatcher confirmed with a sad nod. "Along with your nose and your skin in general. It does make you wonder why eyesight and hearing persist so well."

"Danged if I know, Ma," Bonejangles said, rolling his eye between sockets. "Though I'm glad I kept both. Make being a singer heck of a lot harder if I couldn't hear myself!"

"Beethoven managed pretty well without his hearing," Victor said, picking up a chocolate tart and contemplating it. "If I had to choose one, I'd rather be deaf."

"Even with you tinklin' away on the piano?"

"Yes. I. . . ." He bit his lip as he looked into the darkness atop the pastry and remembered an equally-black room, with a voice coming from all directions – _"You don't deserve a name. . . ."_ "I've h-had blind, let's say."

"Well, let's hope you need never worry about either," Lizzie said, giving him another painfully sympathetic look. Then, in a clear attempt to change the subject, she added, "And Sam and I tried Whitechapel street pies during our trip Upstairs. Would not recommend the ones from that Dibbler fellow."

"Dibbler?!" Alice sat up straight, horrified. "Oh, Lizzie, of all the people to choose from!"

"You've had his wares, then?"

"Once. I didn't finish it. There were too many – _rubbery_ bits."

"He got me too," Victor confessed, making a face. "Alice unfortunately only caught up with me after I'd already taken a bite. I don't know _what_ kind of meat he uses, but it's surely not beef."

"Oh, Liz found out for ya," Bonejangles told them, leaning on a hand. "It's rat."

"Pulled a tail out of my pie," Lizzie said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. Fixxler pressed a hand over his mouth – Victor didn't blame him, what with his own stomach lurching. "Perfectly awful end to a perfectly awful night."

Alice reached across to touch her sister's hand again. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I don't know _why_ my body had to wander about while my brain was busy in Wonderland. I was still enough in Rutledge. . .I'm not even sure where I was on Halloween."

"Nowhere near us, that's for darn sure," Bonejangles said. "We went all over the city – by Houndsditch, out on the docks, to Radcliffe's old place – even stopped by Hyde Park. Liz said you might want to try out the slide."

"Not that we could _find_ the slide," Lizzie said, shaking her head. "I swear, that had to be the foggiest night I've ever seen either in life or death!"

Alice went very, very still. "Foggiest. . .oh."

"Something wrong?" Mrs. Liddell asked, frowning.

"Just. . .well. . .right between exiting Queensland and entering the Dollhouse in Wonderland. . .I found myself chasing lampposts in Hyde Park," Alice confessed quietly. "On a night so foggy I could barely see my hand in front of my face."

Lizzie was silent for three seconds. And then – "Oh, _fucking hell_ , that _was_ you!"

" _Elizabeth!_ " Mrs. Liddell gasped, nearly dropping what remained of her tart.

"Er – something wrong?" Paul asked, appearing by Victor's shoulder in the middle of a tray of drinks.

"Just that I almost – _almost –_ caught up with my sister on Halloween last year, and turned away because I didn't think it could actually be her!" Lizzie let her head _thunk_ against the table. "It just _figures_!"

"Lizzie, you had no idea it was me," Alice said, patting her scalp. "And even if you had decided to pursue me – well, I almost certainly would have dismissed you as just another hallucination. Or, worse, attacked you thinking you were an enemy."

"I know, but – between that _and_ just missing out on maybe saving Victor. . . ." Lizzie picked up a tart and crumbled it in her hands. "It grinds my gears, it really does."

"Same here," Bonejangles agreed, taking both Lizzie's carrot juice and his whiskey. He knocked a good half of the latter back, the alcohol spilling through his bones and onto the chair. "Makes me feel like whoever's running the show likes to toy with us."

"Samuel Thatcher, you shouldn't speak that way about God," Mrs. Thatcher scolded as Paul had his assistant pass out the rest of the drinks.

"I'm with him," Victor said, allowing himself a moment to sink into bitterness. "Any deity who lets people like Barkis and Bumby run around as long as they did obviously doesn't have our best interests at heart."

"I suppose there's the possibility of it all being part of some greater plan – but yes, I'd like a chance to meet with Him and ask a few pointed questions myself," Mr. Liddell admitted, sipping his brandy.

"The funny part is, I don't think you'd get the chance until you lost the urge," Mrs. Liddell said, accepting her brandy with a nod. "After all, you're not supposed to go Up until you're actually at peace, if I understand it correctly. Being ready to yell at God Himself does not qualify as peaceful."

"No, it does not." Alice chewed on her lip as her water was placed in front of her. "I – I know you said you're happy here. And I believe you, I do. But I just want you to know – if you ever _do_ feel ready to – m-move on. . .don't hold back on my account. I've seen you, and we've all said our pieces about the fire. If _this_ does not convince Wonderland I don't need it as a crutch and it doesn't need to keep invading the real world whenever I'm not paying attention, nothing will. And I don't want you to delay your final rewards just to wait around for me."

"Oh, Alice." Lizzie lifted her head again. "If we want to wait for you before we pass on, that's _our_ decision. This may not be Heaven proper, but it's still a good place."

"Indeed – we're having plenty of fun here," Mr. Liddell nodded. "We don't mind sticking around for a while."

"I think that's how most of us down here feel," Bonejangles added, looking at Paul for confirmation. "I mean, movin' on don't look _bad_ , but nobody's quite done yet."

"Always new customers to make comfortable," Paul agreed, smiling. Then he glanced down at his tray. "And, frankly, I'd like to get reacquainted with ze rest of me before I go anywhere. Stupid bet."

"That seems fair enough," Alice allowed. "And yes, as long as you're happy, please stay. I just – I don't intend on dying anytime soon, and I didn't want you to feel you _had_ to wait."

"We have plenty to keep us occupied Downstairs for the time being," Mrs. Liddell assured her. "And we'll make sure you know if we _do_ decide to move on." She grinned. "Although I can certainly assure you _I'm_ not going anywhere until _you_ have a new last name."

Alice laughed as Victor resisted the urge to bonk his head against the table. "Well, that gives us plenty of excuse to delay the wedding even further, huh, Victor?" she said, patting his back. "Sorry, Mama, but almost literally everyone we know keeps hounding us to tie the knot already."

"Oh, I don't mean it to sound like I'm rushing you," Mrs. Liddell hastened to say, shaking her head. "Just – I won't feel at peace until you're properly settled. Both of you."

"I think that goes for all of us," Lizzie nodded, looking between Alice and Victor. "After everything that's happened to the two of you. . .you both deserve whatever happiness you can give each other."

"I can assure you we're very happy already," Alice said, cuddling up against Victor's side again. "And we won't keep you all waiting _too_ long on this wedding. Perhaps we're not ready yet, but we want to be official sooner rather than later too."

Victor nodded agreement, hoping that it didn't look too forced. Oh dear. . .he _did_ want to be official, truly. Did want to call her his wife. But every time he thought about it, his thoughts plunged right back into that dark bedroom. . .to that crushed doll beneath him, the Ruin dripping down his skin. . . . He swallowed. He struggled so _hard_ to master the evil within him, shove it down into some deep black pit where it could never get out again – and then she'd snuggle up to him like this, or flip her hair just the right way, or press her sweet lips ever-so-briefly against his, and it would all surge right back out, his mind straying back to all those wretched, _disgusting_ places where he _violated_ her again and again. . . . _**This is why Victoria and Emily tossed you aside. They saw it even if they didn't realize it. They saw you weren't so different from Bumby – not different at all. You'll poison her just like he tried, tear her heart and soul to pieces, and love every second of it**_ _ **. . . .**_

"Arf! Arf!"

Something hard and white abruptly leapt into his lap, butting his chin with its nose. Victor yelped, startled out of the threatening abyss. "What the – Scraps!"

His face lit up, all bad thoughts fleeing the wave of sheer joy at seeing his childhood pet once more. "Oh, Scraps – who's my good boy?" he asked, rubbing the dog's skull. "Who's my good boy?"

Scraps barked, tail beating a cheerful tattoo against Victor's chest. "Oh – so _this_ is the famous pup!" Alice said, sitting up straight again. She offered the skeletal pup a palm. "Hello, Scraps."

Scraps craned his head to sniff her hand with his fleshless snout. Then he yipped and tumbled into her lap, rolling himself over to offer his spine and ribs for rubbing. "Heh – enthusiastic little thing," she commented, doing her best to oblige him.

"He always was, alive or dead," Victor said, reaching to scratch under Scraps's jawbone. "No wonder he got along so well with Emily. . .he drove Mother mad with his bouncing about when I was younger. Though, frankly, given her attitude toward most animals, he would have annoyed her even if he'd been the most sedate dog in existence." He caught a paw and playfully shook it. "How are you doing, boy? Is someone looking after you down here? Mayhew perhaps?"

"Last time I saw him, he was livin' in the Elder's tower," Bonejangles told him. "Wonder what he's doing out here?"

"Well, it's not like I don't _walk_ him."

Victor turned to see a familiar ancient skeleton hobbling up to the table. "Though with him, it almost always turns into more of a run," Elder Gutknecht continued, pressing a hand against his bent spine. "I wondered why he just bolted like that when we neared the pub – he must have caught your scent. Back down here with a pulse again, my boy?"

Victor chuckled. "I'll get it right one day. Actually, we're kind of here to see you."

"Oh? Not more troubles, I hope," Gutknecht said, fiddling with his glasses. "Miss Liddell and Bonejangles informed me you were in a rather bad spot for a while."

"I'm better now," Victor said firmly. _One day I'll believe that when I say it._ "This is more of a social call." He got to his feet, standing behind Alice's chair. "May I present Alice Liddell – you probably already know her by reputation."

"Indeed I do," Gutknecht nodded, offering her a hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last, my dear. You're looking well."

"Thank you – I'm doing much better now that a certain doctor has died," Alice replied, shaking. Scraps whined at the sudden lack of pets and clambered down to sniff everyone's feet. "Thank you for helping my parents and sister try to warn me about him. Even if it didn't amount to much."

"I did what I could," Gutknecht said. "I was very pleased to hear you were able to overcome him on your own."

"We're all very glad of that," Victor agreed. He moved over to Dr. Fixxler, who was sitting frozen with a chocolate tart dangling from his fingers. "And this is my friend Dr. Jeremiah Fixxler. He runs Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs in London Upstairs. He's the one who brought us down here."

"Ah – good to meet you as well then," Gutknecht said, extending his hand to Fixxler.

"The – the pleasure is all – all mine," Fixxler stammered, dropping the tart and accepting the handshake. "Sorry, it's just – when I heard Victor's story, and your name. . .pardon me if this is too forward, but – is your first name Theodor?"

Gutknecht's toothless grin caught the yellow light. "Aaaah. Another fan of my book, I take it?"

Fixxler's face lit up like a child who'd just met Father Christmas. "I've read it from cover to cover! It changed my life! To go from thinking I was going to have to spend the rest of my life working on some plantation, to knowing magic was _real_ , and could be done so _easily._ . . !" Fumbling in his bag, he brought out an old tome, bound in cracking leather, and a fountain pen. "Um. . .would you mind signing this?"

Alice snorted. "Interested researcher," she whispered to Victor.

"Oh, let him have his fun," Victor said, sitting back down. Scraps hopped into his lap and nosed at his hand – Victor favored him with a few spine scratches. "I'd probably be just as excited if I ever got the chance to meet Beethoven or Mozart."

"Wait, wait, what's this about you writing a book?" Mr. Liddell demanded. "You never mentioned being an author!"

"It was a long, long time ago," Gutknecht replied modestly, scribbling his signature on the title page. "I'm sure it's been long-eclipsed by more modern works."

"I can assure you, you're still one of the top authorities among European magicians," Fixxler said, hugging the book to his chest. " _Unseen University –_ one of our magazines – quotes A Treatise of Magick regularly. And there's plenty of people still searching for the truth of what happened to you after you vanished from history." He paused. "So, for the sake of posterity – why are you here?"

"Well, I thought that if I wanted privacy in my golden years, I had to go somewhere remote," Gutknecht explained, leaning on the table. "Oh, Paul – a glass of my usual, please, would you? Everyone in Germany knew my name after all," he continued as Paul and his assistant scurried off. "So, after some time touring the continent, I crossed the Channel into England, and stumbled upon – well, it wasn't Burtonsville yet. Just a few scant houses full of people living off the forest. I liked the quiet and decided to join them."

"That's more or less the reason John and I settled here," Mrs. Thatcher said with a sad smile. "We hoped that the village would accept us, but if they didn't, it was easy to keep to ourselves. And the forest is lovely."

"So you tarried here until old age took you?" Alice guessed.

"Not quite, I'm afraid," Gutknecht confessed. "About a year after my arrival, I went out on a morning ramble. It was a beautiful day, and I went farther afield than I normally did. . .and when I came across the stream, I decided to go ahead and cross it." He sighed, rubbing the giant crack running across his skull. "You'd think a man already reliant on a walking stick would know better, but. . . ."

The entire table winced. "Oh, Elder Gutknecht. . .I'm so sorry," Victor said with feeling. "What an awful way to die."

"It wasn't how I wanted to go – but it could have been worse," Gutknecht replied, shrugging. "I was out like a light the moment my head hit the stone. Just an instant of pain, and then I was here." He smiled again, skull bright in the lamps. "And finally free of that bloody arthritis."

The elder Liddells and Mrs. Thatcher laughed. "One of the few good things about dying – losing all those little aches and pains of approaching age," Mr. Liddell nodded. "God knows I was happy enough to stop grunting every time I needed to get out of a chair. So you've been here since the beginning, have you? It must have been fascinating, watching the village grow and change over the years."

"I was the one to meet Mr. Burton and his wife when they passed on," Gutknecht said. "Very nice people." He looked around as Paul returned with his "usual," a bright red concoction that fizzed dangerously. "Thank you. . .though quite opposed to drink, so it's for the best they passed on before this place was built."

"So _that's_ why I saw a coffee shop, but no tavern," Alice said, looking up at the ceiling. "Though the population now doesn't seem to fear alcohol." Her face darkened. "Then again, considering how much they seem to fear anything different up there. . . ."

Victor put a steadying hand on her arm. "We won't be staying past today. Much as I would have liked to come down here when I passed on, it's not worth living anywhere near that village."

"You can always do like we do and travel back and forth," Mrs. Liddell said, sipping her brandy. "It's quite easy when you don't have to stop to stretch, or sleep, or – anything else." She frowned at them over her glass. "Do you have any idea where you're going to live yet? I assume you're not staying in _Whitechapel_."

" _No_ ," Victor and Alice said together. "We'll probably stay in Houndsditch until we're ready for the next step," Alice continued. "But after that – well, I'm not really sure. I don't know if I want to actually _live_ in Oxford again. I don't want to forget my past, but neither do I want to drown in it."

"We understand that," Lizzie agreed. "It's not like you can move back into the old house anyway."

"I'm just hoping you two are settled by Halloween," Mrs. Liddell explained. "It would be nice to come visit you. Get a chance to see what Upstairs looks like these days. We missed out on Lizzie's trip."

"That would be nice," Alice said quietly. "Though I'm not sure how we'd actually _tell_ you where we ended up."

"Oh, Reaper's Speech should do the trick."

All eyes (and eye sockets) came to rest on Dr. Fixxler. "It's a spell that allows you to send mail between the realms," he continued, smiling like the cat who'd been sitting on a canary until _just_ the right moment. "Needs a good amount of raw magical talent, but I think you and your future husband have _just_ enough to fuel it. And if not, there's always Draw Upon Another's Currents – sharing power would _definitely_ put you over the edge."

There was a moment of silence. "So, uh, _you_ didn't suggest this to us _why_?" Lizzie finally asked, turning to Elder Gutknecht.

"I didn't know such a spell _existed_!" Gutknecht said, straightening his glasses. "When on _earth_ was _that_ discovered?"

"Pretty recently, actually! The _Unseen University_ magazine did an article – in fact, I might have that one here," Fixxler said, picking up his bag and rooting around in it. "Something about a Mrs. Ogg accidentally managing to send a love note to her recently-deceased husband. And yes, they mentioned how odd it was that we figured out how to move _living bodies_ before paper."

"So we can still write to each other! Well, that's better than nothing," Mr. Liddell declared with a grin. "Though we'll probably need your help, Elder. I know Lorina and I aren't particularly gifted magically."

"I'll be only too happy to assist," Elder Gutknecht assured him, peering into Dr. Fixxler's bag with interest. "I don't think I've ever found a copy of this down here. . .a shame. I must be so behind. . . ."

"You should take a few," Victor encouraged. "They're delightful – informative _and_ funny."

"Could I see one too?" Mr. Liddell asked, scooting a little closer. "I've been meaning to brush up on my magical theory. Fascinating stuff. . .which means, sir, that if you have a copy, I'm going to want to see that book of yours," he added to Elder Gutknecht.

"Oh dear – we're _never_ going to get him out of that tower now," Mrs. Liddell said, mock-laying a hand across her forehead. "I have never met a man so obsessed with paper!"

"Mama – if I may say, you're the one who married him," Alice pointed out with a grin.

"So I did," Mrs. Liddell agreed, smiling. "And it was worth every moment. Still is." She leaned forward, taking both Victor and Alice's hands. "I hope you two are as happy as we are. Whenever you feel it's time, of course."

"We've both got a few demons left to exorcise," Alice said, then looked around. "Although, admittedly. . .when I came in here, everything was knotted tree roots and demonic dice and jacks sticking out of the walls. Now. . .well, it's still a lot more _colorful_ than I'm used to, but. . . ." She grinned. "I think I'll have some good news for Dr. Wilson once I get back."

"I'm glad," Victor said with feeling. At least _one_ of them was improving. "And I'm working on mine. I want to be settled by Halloween myself."

"In your own time, dear," Mrs. Liddell said, squeezing his fingers. "We're just glad to have you as part of the family."

_**She wouldn't feel that way if she knew the real you,**_ the voice hissed, but after what had happened with his parents Upstairs. . .it was a lot easier to ignore in favor of the warm wave of surprise and acceptance. "Thank you, Mrs. Liddell. I'm happy to be a part of it."

"Oh, call me Lorina – I don't mind," Mrs. Liddell urged him. "And I think we've spent far too much time thinking of the bad moments as it is. I'd rather hear a happier story. Like how did you come to own Scraps?"

Now there was a happy memory. Maybe sinking into those for a while would drown out the voice. At the very least, it was another good reminder of why he had to keep resisting. "There's not much to it – when I was four and a half, my father came home from the cannery saying he had a surprise for me. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few in-jokes of note:
> 
> \-->The chapter title is a lyric from the song "In The Land of the Dead" -- in fact, it's the one right after the titular line. Since I used that one as the title of the Lizzie/Bonejangles story, it felt appropriate
> 
> \-->Alice's "harem" joking about, ending with "Maybe in another lifetime," is actually a reference to the fact that I do now have a few AU ideas where Victor, Victoria, Emily, and Alice are in a poly relationship
> 
> \-->Stephen Ullman's name is a combination of two _Corpse Bride_ voice actors -- Stephen Ballantyne (Emily) and Tracey Ulllman (Nell Van Dort and Hildegarde)
> 
> \-->"Merry Murderess" was indeed inspired by the intro to the famous _Chicago_ song "He Had It Coming"
> 
> \-->Mrs. Ogg is of course a Discworld reference to good old Nanny Ogg


	8. A Slight Snag On Return

January 27th, 1876

Burtonsville, England

7:02 A.M.

"Oh, for – it should be here! Elder Gutknecht? What did I tell you about putting things back in alphabetical order?"

"To let you do it when you came by?" Gutknecht replied, scanning a shelf just above his head.

"Be reasonable, Papa," Alice said from her perch atop the dresser. "If he tried alphabetizing _this_ collection, he'd dissolve away to dust long before he got past the Cs."

"Well, maybe. . .but you could at _least_ stop using books as stairs," Arthur grumbled, gathering up a few stray volumes from the floor. "You have some very valuable titles in here!"

"What good would the money do me now?" Elder Gutknecht asked, easing his way around a rickety pile of tomes. "I promise you, I'm not walking on anything worth more than a couple of pounds. I meant long ago to ask a carpenter to build me some platforms, but. . . ." He scratched his skull and shrugged. "Even in death, one gets distracted."

"I know I'd be distracted with a collection this large," Victor agreed, turning in a circle in an attempt to take in every groaning bookcase. "Where on earth did they all even come from? Surely it wasn't like this when you moved in."

"Oh, no – I started out with just a copy of my own work," Gutknecht told him. "I've gathered the others over the years. Some of them were donations, from people who'd asked to be buried with a favorite book. Others appeared after some accident Upstairs." He picked up a bone lying behind Alice's dresser and tapped a singed spine sticking out among its fellows. "I'm still not entirely sure on the particulars, but it does seem that, under just the right circumstances, inanimate objects can 'die.'"

"Like our house," Lorina said with a nod. "It's obviously not usable by living people, but we still technically have a roof over our heads. Perhaps it has something to do with being well-loved? We created a lot of fond memories there."

"Maybe. . .though I'm not sure if I'm ready to entertain the idea of inanimate objects having souls," Lizzie admitted, picking a book up off a table and flipping through it at random. Bonejangles leaned over her shoulder for a look. "Realizing animals did was weird enough."

"I'm glad of that fact – means that, perhaps, we'll stumble across Dinah eventually," Alice said, _thunking_ the heel of her shoe against the dresser drawer. "I would like to see her again. I owe that cat a lot."

"We haven't seen her yet – and she should be down here by now," Arthur said with a soft sigh. "Then again, she was always a rather independent sort. If she seeks us out, it'll be on her terms. It could be she's having her own adventures off in Oxford without a thought for any of us."

"One of the reasons I prefer dogs," Victor said, smiling down at Scraps sitting by his side. "Much more loyal."

"Dinah was plenty loyal for a cat," Alice argued. "She certainly put up with _me_ for long enough. Remember when I tried to put the baby bonnet on her and she scratched me?"

"I'm surprised _you_ do – you were two at the time," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. "Fortunately, you were also a clever child, and she only had to do it the once."

"I never tried to dress up Scraps – he wouldn't have stayed still long enough, anyway," Victor said, crouching down to rub the dog's skull. Scraps yipped and nipped playfully at his fingers. "He once snatched one of my mother's mink stoles all on his own, though. I had to chase him halfway across the house to get it back! Fortunately that was back when the servants liked me – the laundress got all the slobber off and slipped it back into Mother's closet with her none the wiser."

Lorina laughed. "Oh, that reminds me of the time my best hat went missing. I was looking all over for it when I found it scooting across the floor. Best as we could work out, Kitty had been clawing at the hatstand, knocked it off, and it ended up falling on her. And she couldn't figure out how to get it off again!"

"Perhaps she just liked how the hat looked on her," Alice joked, grinning. "Or the adventure in roaming around the house with naught but her paws to guide her. She was always adventurous, Kitty. Much more than poor little Snowdrop."

"Yes, that kitten suffered so much at the hands of her sister," Lizzie said with a sympathetic chuckle. "How many times was she knocked into a cup of tea at your tea parties, Alice?"

"More than I can count." She sighed. "I do hope they found their way to a loving family after the fire. I don't like the idea of them hiding out in the woods, shivering in the cold with empty bellies."

"Me either," Lizzie said, frowning. "Perhaps that rascal Vilikins finally took responsibility for his progeny and led them back to his family – we know he roamed at night. And I can't see his owners turning away three orphaned pets, especially when they're partially responsible in a way for two of them."

"I would hope not," Alice agreed. "Even if they could only house them temporarily, that would be something." She looked down as Scraps wandered over to sniff her shoe. "I almost had a cat again after Rutledge," she added, reaching down and picking him up. "Some black stray that took a liking to me and my room in the asylum and kept sneaking in. We made friends, and I asked if I could take him with me when I left. Nobody objected, and so I did." Her eyebrows lowered. "Then, the moment I arrived at Bumby's, he took one look at the cat and demanded I kick him back out onto the street. Said he had a strict 'no pets except fish' policy. I argued with him, but when he threatened to dump the cat in the Thames to be rid of it. . . ."

"Jeez – and I bet he would have done it too," Bonejangles growled, pushing his hat low over his eye sockets. "I mean, if you're willin' to do what he did to the under-tens. . . ."

"I know." Arthur pressed a hand over his eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could have arranged some sort of _accident_ for him while he was still at school."

"Perhaps we should have invited him on a boat ride and quietly drowned him in the Isis," Lizzie muttered. "There were plenty of isolated spots along the river, and it would have been easy enough to say the boat just tipped over. . . ."

"If only," Victor said, relishing the mental image of Bumby choking on a lungful of river water. "What did happen to the cat, then?"

"I managed to offload him onto a couple at the market complaining of a mice problem," Alice said, stroking Scraps's spine. "Hopefully he found a happy enough life with them. Really, though, sometimes I wonder if the only problem Bumby had with the puss was his being black. He and Dinah looked rather alike – maybe Bumby worried some memories would come back to me before he had a chance to hide them away."

"Sounds about right," Dr. Fixxler commented, looking up from his book. "Judging from everything you've said about him, anyway. As it stands, you're welcome to come around and visit Guide anytime you like. She's my cat," he added in explanation to the others. "In the loosest sense, but. . . ."

"And a suspiciously smart one too," Alice agreed, rubbing Scraps's skull. "She was there whenever I seemed to need her most. Chasing her is what sort of started my second Wonderland adventure."

Lizzie smiled. "Can't resist following a furry creature down a dark hole, hmm?"

"Apparently not," Alice smiled back. "Guide's rather more dangerous than the White Rabbit, though. Jack Splatter had me and Victor cornered one day, and she appeared out of nowhere to turn his face into hamburger."

". . .I think I like this cat."

Alice laughed as Scraps wagged his tail. "So do I. She reminds me a bit of Cheshire, only with white fur and without the smile. Or the ability to speak – oh, there's a question. Fixxler, Gutknecht, do either of you know why maggots and spiders can speak human languages down here, but cats and dogs can't?"

"I never looked into that problem myself," Fixxler admitted, turning to Gutknecht.

"I've done some study on it," Gutknecht said, adjusting his glasses as he peered at a high shelf. "Ah, _there_ it is. . .of _course_ I left it up there. . . ." He stretched up on tiptoe, using his bone to poke at a cracked leather tome lying sideways at the bottom of a large pile of smaller books. "It seems to be a magic unique to them – a sort of reversal of the spell that allows us to speak to animals. Back when I first discovered the phenomenon, I thought it might have something to do with maggots being creatures of decay – that they picked up our speech from eating human corpses. But – huungh – spiders don't eat human flesh, and yet the local black widows converse easily with us. Conversely, ravens – uugggh – will happily devour the bodies of the dead, but – urgh – cannot speak on their own. . . ."

"It's very odd," Victor agreed, frowning as he watched Gutknecht's attempts to lever the book out without disturbing the rest of the pile. "But then again, there's a lot about magic that just doesn't work the way you expect it to. . .here, Elder, let me," he added, heading over and waving the bone away.

"Careful, Victor," Arthur warned. "It's a little high even for you."

"I should still. . . ." Victor stretched as far as he could, getting a hand around the book's spine. He very slowly eased it out, tilting it up to keep the books atop it stable. Once it was free, he let them drop again with a little _bump!_ Grinning, he presented the tome to Gutknecht. "Here we are!"

"Thank you, my boy," Elder Gutknecht said, taking the book. He pressed a hand against his spine again. "It is a bit of a curse to be this bent."

"Yes, well, being tall isn't always a picnic eith – _ow!_ "

Victor yelped as the book pile – which apparently had been more wobbly than it first appeared – toppled over onto him. The shower of tomes was brief but painful, ending with one opening onto his head like a hat. Alice did her best to hide a smile. "Well, Papa did warn you. . .you're all right?"

"Dignity more bruised than anything, I think," Fixxler said, fighting back a chuckle.

Victor grumbled as he removed the book hat. "I swear, sometimes it's as if the universe is deliberately _waiting_ for the best moment to make me look silly. . . ."

Alice put Scraps back on the floor, then hopped off the dresser and gave him a hug. "There there. Could have been worse – this could have happened at your parents' house."

"Oh dear – Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if I'd dropped some of her books on the floor," Victor said, glancing down at the scattered volumes. "Not that she's much of a reader. . .sorry, Elder."

"It's all right," Gutknecht assured him with a smile. "As if Mr. Liddell wasn't just lecturing me on my housekeeping."

Fixxler laughed. "You see, Alice? True of all magical folks," he declared. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "Oh dear – and on that note, I'm sorry to bring things to a close, but it's about time we headed back Upstairs."

A disappointed sigh swept the room. "Really?" Alice said, pouting. "We're that close to dawn?"

"Obviously I can't be _exact_ , but we should be within a half-hour of it," Fixxler confirmed, snapping the watch closed. "I'd let the spell run out on its own, but that would both deny us a proper goodbye and make getting back to the village difficult."

"Right – the last thing we need is the town crier spotting us sneaking back in and making a fuss," Victor agreed, grimacing. "Especially with what happened yesterday. Mother's going to be annoyed enough we skipped dinner."

"As if that tea wasn't about as much of each other's company as we all could take," Alice remarked, rolling her eyes. "I suppose we _should_ have a bit of breakfast before we leave – I just hope she spends it glaring at us instead of blabbering on about how we need to contact any lord who may have breathed in my direction on the off-chance they'd be interested in seeing London's most famous madwoman wed at some indeterminate date."

"The trouble with Mother is, she could easily do both."

"Best o'luck with that," Bonejangles said as Lizzie returned her book to the piles. "Shame, though – this has been nice."

"It has," Arthur nodded. "One of the more pleasant nights of my afterlife. Though I'm still surprised _we_ had to give _you_ the tour of Downstairs Burtonsville, Victor."

"To be fair, on my first visit, I was either running through it in a blind panic, or moping through it wondering how on earth I was going to make things right with Emily," Victor defended himself. "I never really got a chance to just _look_ at anything. It was a very enjoyable walk." He grinned cheekily at Bonejangles and Lizzie. "And I'm glad you two like the lookout point as much as Emily did."

"Might as well not waste a nice view, right?" Lizzie said with a little titter. "Or a nice climb, in your case – I am _still_ not over the fact that you can scale that cliff with your bare hands."

"He's just part spider," Alice declared. "I've come to accept that."

"You have to be when running from Gordon Tannen," Victor replied. "Shooting up the nearest tall object was often the only way I could escape him. Lucky for me he never got the knack of climbing trees or walls himself."

"We'd tell you a few stories about Alice and trees if we had the time," Lorina said, chuckling. "I suppose we could always put them in a letter." She shook her head. "Dear me. . .twelve years of only hearing bits and pieces of what was going on in your life, and now, suddenly, we can send post whenever we want. I won't know how to act."

"We'll get used to it quickly, I'm sure," Arthur grinned. "I certainly intend to make up for a lot of lost time once we learn the proper spells."

"You mean _I'll_ be making up for it – you're sure that 'sharing magic' spell won't hurt them?" Lizzie asked, looking between Fixxler and Gutknecht. "It's just – we _have_ been using our fair share of No-Rot potions, and while I'm sure Mama and Papa might consider bits suddenly dropping off as a fair trade. . . ."

"Trust me, it shouldn't be an issue," Fixxler assured her, smiling. "Spells like Reaper's Speech pull from your own energy pool – the magic you personally use to cast something. Potions are technically a spell cast _on_ you – they're imbued with magic from the potion maker. Those effects don't rely on your having any magic of your own – that's why even the rare person who can't cast spells can use them."

"And there's not going to be any weird side effects with it failing?" Alice asked, frowning thoughtfully. "Just everything so far has said you can't cast any spell that would use up all your magic in one go."

"Shouldn't be – I know some of us like to talk as if magic has a mind of its own, but it really doesn't actually _think_ ," Fixxler replied, waving a hand. "The spells don't know if you're borrowing extra magic from someone or something else to boost your own supply. So long as you cast Draw Upon Another's Currents first, you should be able to use it. You'll just always have to use the two spells together."

"Magic has all sorts of loopholes like that," Elder Gutknecht confirmed. "You'll probably find a few of your own if you're planning on making a proper study of the subject."

"Oh, I'm definitely learning every spell I can," Victor told him with a grin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a match. "Although. . . ." He snapped it in half and squeezed it in a fist, before opening his hand to reveal a glowing ball of light. "I think this one is always going to be my favorite."

"Mine too," Alice agreed, giving the ball a friendly poke. "No complicated gas systems, no charge for oil or candles, and no fire risk."

"Indeed – if only. . . ." Arthur sighed. "But what's done is done. You two enjoy your witchery. And let us know if you find anything interesting."

"We will, Papa," Alice promised, going to give him and the rest of her family a hug. "And I promise we'll be somewhere nicer than Whitechapel when you come to visit us on Halloween."

"Good," Lorina said, squeezing her before moving over to Victor and giving him the same. "It was wonderful to meet you in person, Victor. We're all so glad you and Alice found each other."

"Very much so," Arthur agreed, coming up to shake Victor's hand. "You keep making my daughter happy, all right?"

_**Go ahead, promise that – it'll make it hurt all the worse when you**_ **break** ** _it,_** the voice whispered at the back of his head. Victor swallowed and tamped it back down. "I'd rather cut off my own hand than hurt her."

"Let's not go that far," Lizzie said, giving him a hug as well. "You've been through enough. I'm happy you got past what that bastard did to you."

_**Did you? Did you really?**_ "I'm – still working on it, a bit," Victor confessed, scratching his scalp. "But I won't give up."

"That's the spirit," Bonejangles said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And hey, great to meet you too, Fixxler. Thanks a ton for gettin' em down here."

"Indeed – we are in your debt," Lorina agreed, offering her hand to him.

"It was my pleasure, truly," Dr. Fixxler assured them, shaking. "Thank you all for your hospitality! Especially you, Elder Gutknecht. Being able to talk one-on-one with one of the fathers of magic. . .it's been a dream."

"I'm always happy to discuss my craft," Gutknecht replied, setting his book on the dresser. "And I hope my theories on what might be wrong with Go Wither You Will bear fruit! It's a bit embarrassing that no one living or dead has gotten that spell to work properly. At least in translation."

"If there are any Transylvanians using it without a thought, I'd love to meet them," Fixxler agreed with a soft grumble. "I'll pass on my notes to the _Unseen University_ staff."

"Excellent – I'll prepare to be bombarded with visitors," Gutknecht joked. "Ah, but it's good to learn more about some of the advances in the practice. . .I'll have to see if I can get on that mailing list for the magazine."

"I believe they'd move heaven and earth to have _you_ as one of their subscribers," Alice said with a grin. "It was great to meet you as well. And everyone else too. Let the others know they can visit us on Halloween as well, won't you?"

"Sure thing," Bonejangles promised, tipping his hat. "And hey – pass my best onto Junebug, will ya? And tell her to quit with the 'Jeremy' thing."

"We will," Victor said, chuckling. "I hope you and Lizzie continue making the best of things down here."

"We plan to," Lizzie assured him, sharing a warm look with Bonejangles. "And if we ever do decide to make it more official than what we have right now, you'll be the first to know after Mama, Papa, and Carolina." She wrapped her arms around both Victor and Alice one last time. "Oh, I'm so glad you're both all right. . .stay safe up there now, please?"

"Yeah – no coming down here _without_ a pulse until you're both eighty," Bonejangles agreed with an overly-serious nod.

"We'll do our best," Victor said, hand over heart. Then he smirked. "Though, remember, you're talking to the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel here."

"Indeed – we've already survived the worst it could possibly throw at us," Alice nodded. "I don't think we'll have any problems now."

Scraps ran over, dancing about their feet with happy barks. Victor knelt down and rubbed his skull. "Bye, Scraps. Be a good boy for Elder Gutknecht for me."

Scraps barked again, then sat. Victor smiled. "Yes, who's my good boy. . . ."

"All right – chop chop, you two," Fixxler said, clapping his hands together. "We're burning moonlight."

"Right." Victor and Alice proceeded over to him, standing on either side. Victor gave the Liddells, Bonejangles, Elder Gutknecht, and Scraps one last wave. "We'll write as soon as we're able! See you on Halloween!"

"Don't let the maggots chew you up too badly!" Alice added.

"We won't!" Arthur replied with a laugh, as everyone waved back – even Scraps pawed the air. "See you then!"

"Good luck getting back into the village!" Lizzie added.

"Thanks, we'll probably need it," Fixxler said, before glancing over each shoulder. "Ready to go?" Victor and Alice nodded. "Okay then – hopscotch!"

There was a familiar whooshing of wind, and a tugging sensation around Victor's middle that reminded him of Emily's strong arms. Rather than a flock of ravens, however, they were enveloped by familiar golden fog. Victor put his hands behind his back, watching as the cloud's brilliant shine faded to a murky gray. After a timeless moment, it finally dissipated. . . .

Leaving him staring at the Liddells, Bonejangles, Elder Gutknecht, and Scraps.

Victor blinked. Blinked again. Looked at the ceiling (what there was of it). Looked at the floor. Looked back at his friends, who were regarding him with increasing puzzlement. "Um. . . ."

"Ah. . .shouldn't you have. . . ." Lizzie started, her own eyes drifting up to the eternal twilight sky.

"I thought I was!" Victor felt himself all over, as if that would somehow solve the mystery. "I mean – it w-worked last time!"

"Try saying the word yourself," Arthur suggested. "I know it's not technically _required_ , but – I don't know. Perhaps the spell needs an extra push?"

"I can't see why, but. . . ." Victor shrugged. "All right. Hopscotch."

Once again, there was that tugging sensation, as if someone had fastened a rope around his waist – but this time, that was it. No raven feathers, no rolling fog, nothing. His feet remained very firmly planted in the Land of the Dead. "Hopscotch," he repeated, the first tendrils of panic creeping up his spine. "Hopscotch!"

"You all picked the same word, right?" Lorina asked, twisting her hands together.

"Of course! Fixxler suggested it, and I agreed because I _knew_ I would remember it! _Hopscotch!_ "

Elder Gutknecht leaned on his bone, scratching his skull. "Well. That _is_ odd."

And that was all the encouragement Victor's brain needed to rocket ahead into full-blown terror. " _Odd?!_ " he screeched. "I can't go back to the Land of the Living, and you call it _odd?!_ "

"Calm down, calm down, my boy," Elder Gutknecht said, waving his hands. Scraps, whining, came over to nuzzle Victor's leg. "Don't panic – we're not going to leave you stuck here. I may not have ever heard of this situation before, but we should remember that I'd also never heard of Reaper's Speech before tonight. Dr. Fixxler and Alice should be back to retrieve you shortly – maybe they know what's gone wrong." He set down his bone and began rummaging through the dresser. "In the meantime, let's have a look at you. Tell me, do you feel drained in any way?"

"N-no, just – a bit t-terrified," Victor confessed, standing ramrod straight and forcing himself to breathe slowly. _It's okay, it's okay, everything is going to be okay. . . ._ "Do you think it m-might be a problem with my m-magic then? Dr. F-Fixxler did say my aura is u-unusual. . . ."

"Did he? Let me see for myself." Gutknecht pulled out a box of matches, struck one on the dresser, watched the flame carefully for ten seconds, then shook it out and dropped it into his mouth. It tumbled through his jaw and out his ribcage, skipping to a stop on the floor. Arthur promptly ground it into the boards. Gutknecht hobbled up to Victor, pulling down his glasses as his eye sockets filled with an eerie green-gold glow. "Now then – huh."

Gutknecht paused, looking Victor up and down. "That _is_ curious. But how – oh. Ooooooooh."

Well, _that_ didn't sound particularly good. "What is it?" Victor asked, grabbing his tie.

"It's a bit complicated to–"

"Victor, what the hell?!"

Victor yelped as Alice abruptly appeared out of nowhere, throwing herself at him as Scraps and Gutknecht scrambled to get out of the way. "How come you didn't come Upstairs with us?" she demanded, squeezing him tight. "We must have spent a good two minutes searching for you before realizing you just weren't there!"

"I didn't _mean_ to stay behind!" Victor said, returning her hug. "But how did _you_ get back here so quickly? Shouldn't you be back at the tree?"

"Turns out the Reader In Invisible Writings was right – if you go back Downstairs fast enough after returning Upstairs, you get catapulted back to where you were when you left Downstairs," Fixxler explained, coming up behind Alice. "Which is good, because I didn't fancy running all the way back from Emily's tree on _that_ tight a time limit. . .especially to solve a problem I thought was impossible! How does somebody get _left behind_ using Slip Through the Veil?"

"More easily than you might think," Gutknecht replied. "You see, in magical terms, Victor is technically dead."

Bonejangles exchanged a baffled look with Lizzie. "Wha? How's _that_ work?"

"Emily," Victor explained. "We worked this out with Fixxler before – apparently, when she rose to claim me as her husband, my aura changed so I'm – sort of dead and alive at the same time. So I could stay down here with her."

"A logical turn of events," Elder Gutknecht nodded. "Your not-quite-marriage to her bound you partially to this plane of existence. You are truly caught between two worlds."

"So? How exactly is that a problem when traveling between them?" Alice asked, keeping a tight hold on Victor as she turned to look at Gutknecht.

"You'd think it would help," Arthur agreed. "Make the passage easier."

"Well, it does, in a way," Gutknecht replied. "In that the usual time limits don't apply to him. My boy, you can exist as easily down here as you would in the World Above."

Victor shared a look with Alice and Fixxler. "Um – I do hate to contradict you, but – this world, lovely as it is, lacks certain – n-necessities."

"Ms. Plum's chocolate tarts turned out to be perfectly safe," Lorina pointed out.

"I think he's referring to what happens _after_ we eat food, Mama," Alice told her, smirking. "There was a reason all of us were pleasantly surprised to find the Ball & Socket does have, for reasons I don't need to know, a loo."

"Wish I'd known that the first time," Victor mumbled, playing with his tie. "I got a little d-desperate during my first visit. . . ."

"I said 'exist,' not 'thrive,'" Elder Gutknecht deadpanned expertly. "I simply meant that you need never worry about sunrise yanking you away from our plane. Your visits here can be truly indefinite."

"But Victor can't even come here on his – own. . .oh," Alice said, standing a little straighter. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

"Exactly," Gutknecht nodded. "With Slip Across The Veil, the initial travel between worlds is a deliberate act of magical force – but use of the return word simply mimics what would naturally happen at sunrise. As Victor's magic no longer heeds that limit, it also ignores the return word. He can be pushed into the Land of the Dead – or the Land of the Living – but he can't be pulled back. And since he lacks the magical power to cast the spell himself. . . ."

"And the fact that I _want_ to go back has no bearing on it?" Victor asked, frowning.

Gutknecht shook his head. "My apologies – as Dr. Fixxler said, magic isn't truly sentient. It has no idea of your intent." He waved over a raven. "Fortunately, casting the spell again to push you back to the Land of the Living should fix the problem easily."

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good. I'm at least glad that–"

_Emily's face a terrifying mask of anger against the storm gathering outside, growling out the word "Hopscotch" like it was a curse. . .the caw of ravens in his ears, black feathers blinding him as he was drawn inexorably backwards, Emily's fingers digging into his flesh like needles of ice. . .Victoria's face receding as she reached out to him, eyes wide – "No! No! VICTORIA!"_

Victor looked up again, brows knitting together. "Wait. . .no, that _can't_ be right."

"What can't?" Fixxler asked, studying him curiously.

"The spell's worked on me correctly before – Elder Gutknecht, what about when you sent me Upstairs with Emily to 'meet my parents?'" Victor asked, pointing upwards. "I didn't need any extra help to return _then_. Emily said 'hopscotch,' and here we were. If what you're saying is true, I should have been left in Victoria's room."

Gutknecht tilted his head as the raven perched atop his skull, quorking. "That's – a fair point. I certainly didn't cast the spell any differently than normal."

"Maybe it was a delayed effect?" Fixxler said, drumming his fingers on the side of his face. "His aura took some time to gain the 'dead' status?"

"Perhaps, but – you would _think_ it would happen instantaneously," Gutknecht murmured, scratching the cobweb beard dangling from his chin. "Think, Victor – was there any difference in what happened then and the incident just now? Besides the trip being the other way around."

Victor replayed the scene in his mind. Emily had snarled out "hopscotch," he felt that tug around his middle – and then a much stronger yank as she'd pulled him close – "Well, actually. . .she _was_ hanging onto me quite tightly."

"After catching you nearly kissing your old fiancee?" Lizzie asked, blinking.

"Trust me, it was _not_ a loving hug," Victor said, shivering as he recalled again the fury in Emily's eyes. "She simply didn't want me to escape – she shoved me aside the moment we were back in the tower. But do you think that might have had something to do with it?"

"Yes – physical force overriding magical," Gutknecht said, snapping his fingers. "Your aura may resist the simple spell of the return word, but it has no effect on someone literally _dragging_ you from one realm to the next. The solution may very well be just clinging to someone using the return word and trusting yourself to be pulled along."

"Well, I'm not planning on letting go anytime soon," Alice said, resting her cheek against Victor's shoulder. "So we may as well test the theory now."

"And if it fails again, for whatever reason – well, you're right here, and Gutknecht can send you back up," Fixxler added.

"Let's hope it doesn't," Victor said. He gave the others an awkward wave. "So, um – goodbye again."

"Goodbye," Lizzie said, unable to help a giggle. "Oh dear, you poor thing. . . _nothing_ can go easily, can it?"

"One of the best parts of being me," Victor replied, smiling despite himself. "At least spending more time with all of you is hardly a punishment."

"At least 'til the next time you gotta answer the call o'nature," Bonejangles pointed out.

Victor went pink. "Ah, r-right. . . ."

"Well, good luck, Victor," Arthur said with a nod. "I think, in the future, we'll probably come and visit you instead."

"That sounds like a better idea, yes." Victor turned to Fixxler. "Ready whenever you are, sir."

"All right – fingers crossed, everyone," Fixxler announced, holding up his own dramatically. "Ready? Hopscotch!"

Once again, the fog came pouring down over them in a golden wave. The magic tugged vaguely at his middle again – but then Alice's grip tightened, and Victor felt a distinct _pull_ upward as the spell yanked her, and by extension him, along. He wrapped his arms around her as the last billows disappeared around their feet. . . .

And was greeted by the sight of the forest over her shoulder, its deep blue shroud of night slowly giving way to the coming dawn. He let out a long sigh of relief. "Oh thank God."

"Thank Gutknecht," Alice corrected, finally loosening her hold. "Good to see his hypothesis has been confirmed. I would have been quite cross if I'd come back empty-handed again."

"I don't think 'cross' would adequately describe how _I_ would have felt." Victor rubbed Alice's back. "I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"I know," Alice said, pulling him close again for a moment. "I'm sorry for snapping before. It's just – you know how I am about losing the people I love. And after hearing about how badly that one Transylvanian traveling spell can go wrong, I was terrified you'd been somehow flung into a whole new _dimension_."

"Same here – for a second, all I could think was 'damn it, if he's gotten stuck in some sort of limbo between worlds. . . .'" Fixxler sighed, wiping under his hat with his handkerchief. "At least now we know. And can plan around it."

"Indeed," Victor nodded. "We should probably let _Unseen University_ know about all this, actually. We're already sending them my other story, after all. Maybe they know something we don't."

"I'm not sure about that – people being both dead and alive, magically speaking, sounds pretty unique to me," Fixxler replied. "But I'm sure they'll be fascinated. And I can only imagine the reactions when I tell them about how I got to meet Theodor Gutknecht personally." He grinned, picking up his bag and hugging it to his chest. "I might keep _that_ particular tidbit to myself. Just for a little bit. Savor it."

Victor chuckled. "I would too. I'm glad you and he got on so well."

"Me too. I was a bit worried that – well, you heard me outside the Ball & Socket," Fixxler said, with a glance at his dark-skinned hand. "But nope – none of your friends seem to have a prejudiced bone in their body. Quite literally."

"A shame I don't think the current crop of residents will be as kind," Alice said, shooting an annoyed look in the direction of the village. "But yes, I'm happy they didn't look askance at any of us." She smiled at Victor. "And I'm glad Bonejangles and Lizzie found each other."

"I'm still amazed about that," Victor confessed, rubbing the back of his head. "Happy, of course, but – goodness, what _is_ June going to make of that?"

"I foresee a lot of excited squealing – once she gets over the shock of us knowing her brother at all, that is," Alice qualified. "Possibly even come out with a few words about 'destiny.' Which – it does feel that way sometimes, doesn't it? It's a pretty extraordinary set of events that led us to each other."

"Mmm," Victor agreed. Bumby's face loomed up in his mind, and he grimaced. "Though I wish we could have skipped some of the nastier parts."

"Oh yes, me too." Alice gazed up into the bare branches arcing over their heads. "Maybe somewhere out there, in the limitless expanse of possibilities, is a world where we're all alive and happy at the same time. Where tragedy was never our norm. Dr. Pangloss may claim that this is the best of all possible worlds, but I strongly doubt it."

A horrific image of Bumby seated behind his desk, wearing a triumphant grin as Thirteen stood dead-eyed at his side and Alice ducked her head between his legs, painted itself across Victor's eyes. He clutched his lurching stomach, squeezing his lids shut to drive it away. "I – I d-don't even want to think about how bad s-some of the others m-must be if we are." _God, how close did we come to that?_ _If one little thing had gone wrong. . . ._

_**Annoyed that he would have had all the fun in that case?** _

_Shove off! I don't want Alice to_ ever _debase herself like that for me!_

_**Perhaps not, but there's so many other ways you** _ **do** **_. . . ._ **

"Neither do I, frankly," Alice said, patting his back sympathetically. Victor resisted the urge to pull away. Ugh, he didn't deserve her touch, but it would hurt her even more to reject it. . . . "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. Not when we're going to be expected to eat breakfast in a few short hours."

"I'll be fine by then," Victor said, waving the voice and its disgusting pictures back into the recesses of his brain. "Especially if we can sneak a quick nap first." He straightened up, taking a deep breath. "All right, come on – I'll show you how I snuck around the crier when I came back Upstairs with Emily."

"Much appreciated," Fixxler said as they set off, hiding a yawn. "I could use the nap myself. I don't need to plant my face in whatever victuals your parents offer up."

"At least we can catch up on our sleep when we leave," Alice said, rubbing her eyes. "I doubt our driver will mind."

"He'll likely consider us the perfect riders," Victor said with a soft chuckle. He glanced at her. "So – um – are we still going to Oxford? I know that was the plan, but – we rather accomplished everything you wanted to here, didn't we?"

"We did," Alice nodded. She kicked a rock thoughtfully. "But. . .you know, I _do_ still want to go. I want to show you where I grew up – where my house once stood, where we boated on the Isis, the day-school I attended, the university my father helped run. I haven't been back since the fire, after all." She came up on the rock again, and sent it skittering further down the path. "I always felt like there were too many memories lurking there. Too many things that would make me miss my family all the more. But now that I know that they're happy Downstairs, that I can send them letters and see them on Halloween. . . ."

Victor wrapped his arm around her. "Ready to collect some more crystal houses?"

Alice giggled. "I suppose. Though Wonderland is still remaining largely at bay." She looked around. "No giant mushrooms, no dominoes or dice, no Mock Sparrows or googly-eyed snails. . .just a handful of crayon stars in the sky, and those are all winking away." She leaned up against Victor. "Dr. Wilson was right, more or less – a bit of closure, and my brain starts marching along to a beat at least similar to the rest of you. Which is good, because he was going to have to strap me to a chair before I took that latest tonic he was tinkering with."

Victor laughed softly. "Good. I'm glad." He glanced up himself at the fading stars, being touched by the brighter blue of day. "Do you think the visions will go entirely then?"

"Well, those few stars suggest probably not," Alice admitted, biting her lip. "Wonderland has never been good at doing what it's told. But if it restricts itself to little flashes from here on out? A touch of extra color, instead of a full Londerland invasion? I can live with that." She smirked at him. "And I'm likely to let it run a little wild while we're at your parents'. I'd rather sit at Hatter's table than your mother's."

Victor snorted. "I don't blame you. At least it's only the one breakfast. Then you'll never have to sit at it again." He squeezed her shoulders. "And then – onto the next leg of our journey."

Alice nodded. "Mmmm. I hope it's as nice as this one was."

Victor thought of the cold disdain of the Burtonsvillians, the broken bond between him and his parents, the cruel voice that never quite went away. Then he thought of tearful hug between Alice and Lizzie, the delighted roar of the Ball & Socket crowd, the warm acceptance of Arthur and Lorina. He smiled and pressed his head against hers. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The stories about Alice getting scratched by Dinah when she was a toddler and Snowdrop ending up getting dunked in tea at Alice's childhood tea parties are subtle references to incidents mentioned in another AU of mine, "The Technicolor Phase." (If you want to see some of Alice's orgy jokes come to fruition, sort of, check it out.)
> 
> \-->Alice's story about the black cat she had to give up out of Rutledge is a reference to the stray that appears in the _American McGee's Alice_ casebook, and the cat that shows up at the end of the game. Figured it had to go _somewhere_ in between installments!
> 
> \-->The business with Victor and the books falling on him is actually a shoutout to a storyboard segment for _Corpse Bride_ where Victor helped retrieve the book Gutknecht uses to send him and Emily Upstairs. It's a cute bit of business and I'm sorry it got cut.


	9. The Final Battle, The Final Stop, The Final Answer

January 28th, 1876

The Vale of Tears

1:53 A.M.

There was really nothing quite like walking through the Vale in its full glory.

Alice stepped lightly across the grass, relishing the gentle warmth of the sun on her face as it passed through the multicolored heads of the trees. A giant bleeding-heart flower swelled as she passed, dripping a trail of glowing pink petals down to the earth. She stroked it tenderly, then looked up as something _moooed_ above her, catching sight of a Mock Sparrow on its nest, the horned head peeping over the thick basket of twigs. She waved at it, and at the googly-eyed snail that inched its way up the branch – it waggled its eye-stalks back at her. "What a beautiful day," she murmured, giggling as a nutterfly twirled circles about her head, leaving glittery blue dust in its wake. "And not even a single splash of blood anywhere to mar the landscape." She broke through the trees into a clearing, where one of her statue-selves wept a fresh torrent of tears, the water pooling at her waist before rushing off toward the edge of the world. "About time, too. After that lovely trip Below, I _definitely_ want to show Victor my best face."

_"Of course you do. Still such a slave to vanity!"_

Alice jolted, then whirled around, the Vorpal Blade snapping into her hand like her fingers were magnetized. "Damn it – and here I was, thinking I'd finally. . .chased. . .you. . . ."

She trailed off, blinking. There was – absolutely no one behind her. The clearing was exactly as empty as when she'd first stepped foot into it. But there was no mistaking that voice. . .she turned in a slow circle, eyeing each and every gap between the trees. _Any minute now. . .any minute, that awful burbling's going to start up, and_ –

_"Foolish child! How did you defeat me the first time if you can't even see what's beneath you?"_

"Beneath?" Alice looked down. Sure enough, her shadow was missing, replaced by the silhouette of a buck-toothed beak, a sinuous neck, two tattered wings, and two sharp claws. "Oh, _there_ you are! You'll have to excuse me – I was expecting something more – physical."

_"I have form enough to remind you of your sins,"_ the Jabberwock replied, the ghost of smoke pouring from his mouth. _"Your never-ending guilt!"_

Alice sighed heavily. "Ah. This again. My parents and sister weren't enough to run you off?"

_"They were putting on an act – pretty words to disguise rotten feelings,"_ the Jabberwock claimed, stalking from side to side. _"You know the truth. You left that fire smoldering before bedtime. You saw Bumby skulking the halls. You were the first witness to the danger all your family was in. And still you ran away from it all. You flung yourself into the snow and let your family_ burn _!"_

"I flung myself into the snow because Mama and Papa were screaming for me to get out as they tried to save Lizzie," Alice replied, folding her arms. The Vorpal Blade glittered eagerly in the sun. "And Papa said that the log in the library looked dead enough to him as well when he went to sleep. I'll give you that I saw Bumby, but I didn't recognize him at the time. I thought he was a monster – er, a different one that he actually was," she corrected herself. "Was it all that surprising I'd retreat to Wonderland under the circumstances?"

The shadow hissed at her. _"You still could have raised the alarm about your 'centaur!' You could have stayed in reality, instead of fleeing into fantasy!"_

"How odd for _you_ to insist that I stay in reality! Are you that eager not to exist?" Alice shook her head. "Mama and Papa took pains to remind me they were heavy sleepers – could I have roused them in time? Or would we all have roasted before they stirred?" She bit her lip. "And – and no matter what, by the time I saw him, we'd lost Lizzie. There was nothing I could have done in her case."

_"You woke before she perished!"_ the Jabberwock insisted, flicking his tail. _"You could have stormed her bedroom! Stopped him in his tracks!"_

"As a half-asleep eight-year-old clutching a toy rabbit? Yes, I would have been a terrible threat to a deranged twenty-something who we _know_ was very much unopposed to violence and murder if it meant getting what he wanted," Alice replied, the sarcasm thick enough to taste. "I probably just would have forced poor Lizzie into watching _me_ get murdered. Who am I to inflict that on my sister?"

The shadow contracted, folding in on itself like her words were a physical blow. _"You still could have done more!"_

"Your arguments grow more vague – and more stale – every time we meet," Alice said, balancing the Vorpal Blade on the tip of her finger. "How many times have we been over this? Whatever mistakes I've made, I can't keep _obsessing_ over them. Particularly those related to the fire. And especially now that I've gotten confirmation from Elder Gutknecht and Dr. Fixxler that there is no spell for altering the past." She smirked at the diminished shadow-beast. "You're scrabbling for survival, aren't you? Being reunited with my family – being told they don't blame me, that they still love me – must have weakened you horribly. You're barely more than an angry voice on the wind now. . . ."

The faded Jabberwock growled. _"I will endure,"_ he insisted, rearing up to his full height. _"I will succeed. You may, in your madness, absolve yourself of your previous crimes. . .but when you fail Victor, I will lead the charge against you!"_

_SNICKERSNACK!_ And down went the Blade, burying itself into the earth right across the creature's neck. " _No_ ," she snarled, a hint of Ragebox red in her eyes. "You will _never_ come near him. Any mistakes I make with him, I will atone for myself. And I _know_ he will never hold it against me. The weight of my sins is one I can bear on my own. You are _no longer needed_ , you vile beast. Even the _Queen_ does not miss you! _BEGONE!_ "

The sun flared above her, bathing everything in sharp white light. The Jabberwock screamed, a raw note of rage and pain. . .and then the brightness receded, leaving only her own image on the grass. Alice pulled the Vorpal Blade free of the dirt and looked around. "Was – was that it?"

She'd expected a flash of yellowed teeth, a snarky comment or obtuse riddle. . .but no. The Vale's only response was silence. But it was a different silence than before. More – peaceful. Like a great weight had been lifted off the entire world. _Oh God. . .that_ was _it,_ Alice realized, a grin brighter than the bleeding-heart stretching her face. _That was really it. He's gone. After twelve years and two months of running and battling – he's finally gone. I'm free. I'm_ –

_squeak! creeaaak. . . ._

Alice started, blinked – and just like that, the Vale was no more, replaced by a moonlit nightstand and washbasin. _What – oh. Right. Hotel,_ she thought, yawning as her mind cranked itself up to speed. _Off to Oxford. Yes. Doesn't explain the noise, though._ She rolled over to seek out the source –

And found Victor already out of bed, tip-toeing his way toward the door. "Victor?"

Victor jumped, then turned with a guilty expression. "S-sorry," he mumbled. "I was h-hoping not to wake you. . .I'll – I'll be back in j-just a moment. I just need–" He made a walking motion with his fingers. "W-won't take long."

Alice eyed him. Even through the haze of freshly-interrupted sleep, she could see he was a bit paler than usual. And his hands kept moving back to his pajama collar, twisting and tugging any loose bit of cloth they could find. Never a good sign. "Nightmare?" she guessed.

He nodded. "Not like – but still – I'll feel better if I w-walk," he said, edging toward the door. He held up a hand. "I'll be back in j-just a couple of minutes. I promise."

And then he was out the door, closing it behind him before she could do much more than nod. Alice pushed herself up on one arm, listening as his footsteps faded down the hall. _Oh dear – well, he did warn me that this might happen,_ she thought with a sigh. _Hopefully he doesn't wake up Dr. Fixxler. . .or worse, anyone who might notice he_ _came from the room that was_ supposed _to be for the young lady alone. Then again, I'm a woman traveling with two men – one of whom is older_ and _black – on a ten-day trip around England, with no proper chaperone in sight. Even for those who don't already know the story of the fire, my reputation is probably in tatters._ She yawned. _Well, so long as nobody kicks up enough of a fuss that I have to get married on Nell Van Dort's timetable instead of my own. Still, Victor, hurry back. If only because the bed is a lot colder without you here._

Fortunately, Victor was true to his word – two minutes later, he was back, slipping through the cracked door like a ghost. For a moment, he lingered there, staring at her with an unreadable expression. Then he crossed to the bed and wrapped her in the tightest hug she'd experienced since – well, since last night, when Lizzie's arms had locked around her. "I love you," he whispered, voice trembling.

"I love you too," Alice replied, now awake enough to be properly concerned. He was shaking like a leaf in her embrace. She rubbed his back, hoping to calm him down. "You're _sure_ it wasn't like that last one?"

"I'm not tearing my face off, right? Or running screaming to the washroom?" Alice nodded, giving him the point. "It really wasn't that bad. . .if only because it was short. I just. . . ." He sucked down a deep, shuddering breath. "It's too r-raw, right now. I need some time."

"It's all right," Alice assured him. She scooted a little closer and pulled him half-into her lap, her hand snaking into his hair. He relaxed almost immediately, snuggling against her. "Take whatever time you need. Just be sure to put it back when you're done."

Victor laughed. "I'll try." He glanced up at her. "I didn't disturb you too badly, did I?"

"No," Alice promised him. "And even if you had – well, I'd rather be up to comfort you than sleeping soundly while you suffered."

Victor bit his lip. "You said as much before. . .but you know me. I'd rather you _not_ have to worry about me."

"Sorry, Victor – that's part and parcel of being a couple," Alice told him, poking his nose. "But hey – now I don't have to wait until morning to tell you the good news."

"Good news?" he echoed, lifting his head.

Alice nodded, a sharp grin turning her lips. "The Jabberwock's down. For good this time."

"The Jabberwock?" Victor sat up a little straighter. "You haven't mentioned him in a while. . .I thought perhaps he was already gone."

"I thought so too, but then he appeared tonight while I was traversing the Vale," Alice explained. "Or, well, _part_ of him appeared – rather than getting his own body, he had to be satisfied with warping my shadow. He started spouting all the usual nonsense about the fire, and my family – I threw the words right back in his face. And then, when he tried bringing up you, I stabbed him right in whatever passed for his neck. Moments later, he was gone – and I just _knew_ it was the last time." She smiled. "I know the professed reason for meeting my family was to calm my hallucinations. . .but this feels like the bigger victory. Clearing the dominoes and dice from the world is nothing to knowing the worst part of my madness is _finally_ defeated."

Victor's face lit up. "Oh, Alice. . .I'm so happy for you," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "I was so afraid that he would keep tormenting you all your life – especially after that incident with Witless. . . ."

"Let's not think about that," Alice said, rubbing her throat as she recalled her turn in the monster's courtroom. "I'm just thrilled that I was wrong about him never truly going away." She hooked a hand around Victor's head, pulling him forward. "Thank you so, so much for accidentally marrying a corpse that one time."

Victor chuckled. "I'm glad it worked out so well for somebody."

"I think we can all agree it was one of your better mistakes." Without further ado, she leaned in for a kiss. . . .

Only for Victor to tense and jerk away, lips pressed tight. She blinked, and he blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I – I s-should tell you that d-dream I just had. . .well, it involved R-Ruin getting v-vomited into my mouth."

"Guh!" Alice released him in favor of pressing a hand to her stomach, which seemed to have taken an abrupt bounce on one of her springy mushrooms. "I thought _my_ brain came up with some disgusting images. . .you poor thing."

"I'm sorry," Victor repeated with feeling. "I don't – I want to – I-I'll be better in the morning."

"It's all right," Alice assured him. "I can wait." She ruffled his hair, then pushed back the covers. "Come on – we ought to get a _little_ more sleep before you have to switch back into 'your' room."

That got a smile, though a rather faded one. "Right." Victor folded himself around her, his cheek resting against her hair. "I do love you," he mumbled into her scalp.

"I love you too." Alice drew the blankets back over them, then pressed her head into Victor's chest, listening as his breathing gradually slowed. Thinking about how pale and worn he'd been when he'd left the bed, a specter of his usual self. How tightly he'd held her upon returning, as if afraid she'd somehow be taken from him. How tense he'd been during the failed kiss, and how ashamed he'd sounded when he'd confessed to his dream. _Quite the contrast to me stabbing the last remains of my guilt to death,_ she thought, worrying her bottom lip. _Once again, it's like for my mind to heal, his has to fall apart. And I'm trying to give him the space he says he needs, but. . .is it really working?_ She sighed. _"Observe, learn, and react," the Cat once told me. Well, I'm observing, and I'm learning that Victor's struggle against his own brain isn't going well. But how do I react?_

_"With care,"_ Cheshire said, his smile a strip of yellowed moonlight in the air. _"Your theories are sound, but you still lack the whole picture. It's hard to see what's printed inside another's skull."_

_Not as hard as you think with the spell we recently learned,_ Alice retorted. _But I suppose you're right. Until he lets me in, I'll just have to make do out here_ _. Provide balance, as you said before_ _._ She wrapped her arms around him, pressing their bodies tightly together as she shut her eyes. "Don't worry, Victor," she mumbled. "I am _not_ going to fail you."

February 1st, 1876

Oxford, England

10:26 A.M.

"So – this is where your house stood?"

"It is."

"Huh. It's – different than I expected."

"Same here. For starters, I was expecting another house."

"I think we all were," Fixxler put in, as they gazed across the expanse of dead grass, dormant shrubs, empty benches, and frozen fountains that had taken the place of the Liddell family estate. "Shouldn't that lawyer of yours told you that they'd turned this spot into a memorial park?"

"It would have been nice," Alice nodded, folding her arms. "Which is likely why he neglected to say anything. He must have used up his yearly quota of pleasantness on apologizing to me for insinuating I had something to do with the fire."

"It's a nice little park, at least," Victor said, venturing onto the path.

"It is," Alice agreed, following. The gravel crunched in a very satisfying way under her feet. "Though I'm sure it's much nicer in the spring, once everything starts blooming and they can run the fountains again."

"We'll have to remember to come back once the weather starts getting warmer," Victor agreed. He ran his fingers over the stone back of a bench set nearby. "What do you think your family would make of this?"

"Oh, I think they'd like it well enough," Alice said, peeking through the dry branches of a little hedge. "We had a decent back garden when this patch of land was still ours. Mama kept rose bushes, and rows of daisies and daffodils. We had lilies for a little while too, but then someone told us that they weren't good for cats and we got rid of them. Good thing, too, as Kitty was forever trying to eat the other flowers. We also had some ornamental cherry trees – I was gravely disappointed the day I was tall enough to pick a few and taste them. Asked Papa what on earth was the point of a tree that made fruit you couldn't even eat."

"Birds like them," Victor said, weaving his way down the path. "We had one too, in our back garden, and every time it fruited, we'd have flocks of birds coming in to feast. Drove Mother mad, as you might imagine."

"You had _room_ for a back garden in that pokey little town?" Fixxler asked, leaning on one of the benches.

"You didn't see the whole house," Victor reminded him.

"You'd need a _week_ to see the whole house."

Victor laughed. "Fair enough, but still. It's not a very _big_ back garden, admittedly – as you say, pokey little town. And my mother has never been a fan of nature. To her, anything green that wasn't on her dinner plate was to be regarded with deep suspicion. And anything furry needed to be killed so she could wear its skin."

"Papa always claimed not to hate fur coats – 'at least that means the poor creature's still being useful,'" Alice said, dropping her voice in imitation. "I think five minutes with your mother and her stoles would make him change his mind."

"She could probably make the most ardent fur-lover take up the cause against it," Victor agreed, sighing. "But the nobility wears furs and feathers, so she has to as well. And the nobility have flower gardens, so she made sure there was room for one when the mansion was built. I never saw her use it, but _I_ had plenty of happy hours in it as a child." He smiled into the middle distance. "Caught my first butterflies there. Drew my first pictures too."

"We had regular picnics out in ours," Alice said, rocking nostalgically. "Papa was a firm believer in fresh air being good for the body and spirit of both sexes. And once the weather got good enough, he was almost always pottering around out there with his camera, taking pictures of this and that. Mama and Lizzie liked to tease him, but – I always found his hobby rather magical. Aim a big box with a glass bit on one end at a tree, press a button, wait ten minutes, disappear with the box into a darkened room stinking of some mysterious chemical soup. . .and voila! The tree is preserved for posterity in paper form, ready to be hung on the wall and admired for the rest of your days." She went still as flames and smoke raced across her mind's eye. "Or, at least, until the library burns and takes all your hard-earned photographs with it."

Victor slipped his arm around her. "I'm sorry," he said, voice low. "For you and him. All that hard work, gone in a single night. . . ." He stared off at the horizon, and Alice knew he was seeing his own pictures being torn from his wall. He came back to himself with a little shake. "Perhaps some of them managed to end up Downstairs, somehow. Like Elder Gutknecht's books."

"I doubt it, given that the library was the epicenter of the whole disaster. . .but it would be nice," Alice admitted, turning her face to the sky. A few lonely cards faded in from Cardbridge, swooping across the clouds. "Though, on the other hand, considering he still blames himself a bit for keeping all his flammable equipment in there, ready for Bumby's mischief, maybe it's for the best that they're gone."

"Still. . . ." Victor sighed, then gave her a squeeze. "How are you doing?"

Alice turned back to him as the cards disappeared, off to warmer climes. "Better than I expected, honestly," she told him. "Whenever I pictured coming back here, I always saw myself so overwhelmed with tears I cried a new Vale."

"Doubt the rest of Oxford would appreciate that," Fixxler noted, glancing back at the main road. "But if you want to have a smaller cry, we won't tell anyone. God knows I'd want one if I were in your place."

"I thought I would, but. . .well, I'm not really _sad_ anymore," Alice told him. She linked hands with Victor, tugging him up along the path toward the large fountain that formed the hub of the park. "Not after seeing them again so recently. Knowing for sure that they're all right Downstairs. That they're not as far away as I always feared." She sat on the lip of the basin, smiling out at the hibernating hedges and flower plots. "And to see all this. . .to know that my father, my whole family, was held in such high esteem by the city as to warrant all this. . .it's truly touching."

_"Mmmm. . .shame the other residents considered you too touched to tell you of its existence,"_ Cheshire put in from the back of her head.

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm trying not to think about that, Cat."

"More sarcasm from him?" Victor guessed, sitting down next to her.

"As per usual. . .though at least now he isn't manifesting beside me," Alice said, patting the empty spot on her other side. "Wonderland's been _very_ well behaved for the past few days, actually. I still get little flashes here and there, but for the most part, I stay pretty firmly in reality."

"Well, that's good!" Victor said, smiling. "Means this trip did exactly what it was supposed to."

"Indeed," Alice agreed. "Dr. Wilson should be thrilled to hear it. I know he's felt guilty in the past about not being able to help me more in Rutledge."

"He seems like a good man," Fixxler commented, taking the open space on her right. "At least, I appreciate that I can talk to him about more magical matters and not get thrown in an asylum myself."

"He's not the type to do that," Victor assured him. "Even before he learned that it was all real, he didn't think I needed any treatment at all for my 'delusion' of a corpse bride. He thought I was just working through some fears, and that the best thing to do was leave me alone. But Mother wouldn't have it. . . ." He sighed heavily. "And then, after Bumby. . .I don't think I would have trusted anyone else who walked through that door to take over."

"Me either," Alice said. "Perhaps he's not the best or the brightest in his profession – but they thought _Bumby_ was, so I'm not inclined to believe anyone else's opinion on that matter anymore. I'll take mediocrity if it means someone who _listens_. Now I just have to either get him off his amateur concocting or get you, Fixxler, to show him how to brew up _proper_ potions that won't make his patients addicted or dead."

"I could give him the lesson in an afternoon," Fixxler said. "Does depend on how magically skilled he is, of course. And if he's willing to listen."

"He's open to trying new things – which is part of the problem with his homemade drugs," Alice said, scraping her tongue against her teeth as she recalled the vile taste of his favorite Rutledge brew. "Just get him to stop using such over-enthusiastic amounts of laudanum. And drop the arsenic and opium altogether."

Fixxler touched his hat. "I'll do my best."

Alice nodded, then turned back to Victor. "You – should probably tell him about your nightmares," she said cautiously. "When you're ready. If you haven't already."

As expected, Victor stiffened. "Well. . .uh. . .do you r-really think that's necessary?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head. "I mean, they're not f-fun, but. . .I'm doing all right, d-dealing with them. Aren't I?"

Alice frowned dubiously. "I'm not sure I would classify waking up as much as you do in the middle of the night lately as 'all right.'"

"I've always suffered from bouts of insomnia," Victor argued. "You know that. I'm used to having to get up and do something else for a while. Do I look any worse than I usually do?"

"Victor – you're naturally whiter than a ghost, and the dark circles around your eyes could rival a raccoon's," Alice responded. "It's kind of hard to tell."

Fixxler snorted. "She's got you there," he said, as Victor rolled his eyes. "But I've noticed that too, on this trip. You never look rested in the morning. It can't be healthy."

"Again, it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. . . ."

"I'm not trying to push – not really," Alice said, rubbing his hand with her thumb. "I'm just – suggesting. I know you want to deal with this on your own. But Dr. Wilson would probably at least like a status update. Just so he knows any noises in the middle of the night aren't someone else trying to break in."

"You were just saying how he needs to use _less_ laudanum on people," Victor pointed out.

"Could give you both the recipe for a sleeping potion," Dr. Fixxler suggested. "Only a temporary fix, but. . . ."

Victor tugged at the knot of his tie. "Well – I'll think about it," he finally said. "But I'd like to see if I can make them go away on their own first. I've been trying and trying to think of _happy_ things before bed. . . .but you know how contrary brains can be," he added, looking at Alice.

"A sentiment I understand all too well," Alice nodded. "Perhaps part of the trick is to make some more happy memories for you to dwell on." She stood up, giving his arm a tug. "So, on that note, how about we all proceed over to the Isis? It may not be boating season, but I'm sure the river still has its pleasures."

Victor smiled, relaxing again. "I'd like that very much."

February 5th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

2:27 P.M.

"Welcome back!"

Alice quickly put down her bags as June launched herself at her for a hug, laughing as she caught the other woman in her arms. "I take it you missed us!"

"Well, of _course_ I did!" June said, pulling back with a bounce. "It just hasn't been the same without you here. We all feel the same way. Just the other day Reggie told me he hoped you'd be back soon!"

"Probably because he's expecting some sort of present," Alice replied, looking past her at the open front door. "So where is the rabble, then?"

"All at the barber's – Dr. Wilson felt everyone was due for a haircut," June explained, picking up one of Alice's bags. "He insisted I stay behind in case you came back before he did – hello Victor!" she added, waving over Alice's head. "Hello Dr. Fixxler! Did you enjoy your trip?"

"Mostly!" Dr. Fixxler replied, hanging onto the side of the carriage. "Burtonsville got even less friendly after you left, though. Victor can tell you about it – I ought to get back to my shop."

"Oh, won't you stay a moment?" June beseeched. "I'll make an early tea for you all. Surely you want a sandwich and a hot drink after your long trip?"

"We _did_ skip lunch in favor of getting here sooner," Victor admitted, rubbing his stomach. "And you know the food is more than worth it."

"Not to mention it's about the only time you could visit here without being inundated with requests for magic tricks," Alice put in.

"Truuuueee. . . ." Fixxler tapped his fingers on his chin, considering then hopped down. "All right then, I suppose I can stay for a bit. How much would it cost me to have you drive this over to Dr. Fixxler's Mysterious Elixirs and drop it off around the back?" he asked the cabbie.

"Say – five extra shillings for my time?" the cabbie replied, holding out his hand.

"I'll make it six." Fixxler handed over the money and waved as the carriage clopped off. "That little bit extra means a lot in the long run, I've found," he said to the others.

"Trust me, I learned the value of a touch of bribery in this section of London long ago," Victor nodded. "Hopefully he doesn't just throw your bags on the doorstep and rush off."

"Eh, I didn't bring anything with me that couldn't be replaced – otherwise I wouldn't be standing here with you." Fixxler rubbed his hands together. "Tea then?"

"Coming up!" June said, grabbing another bag before leading the way back indoors. "Here, let's just drop these back in your room, and I'll get the kettle on and the sandwiches arranged." She bit her lip. "So, um, what happened in Burtonsville then?"

"Something just shy of an angry mob," Alice explained, cradling another bag against her chest. "The other villagers were not keen on Victor showing his face there again."

"I managed to shout them down after one started throwing mud, but – I think I was very lucky Pastor Galswells didn't show up to whip them into a frenzy," Victor said, rubbing his eye as they reached their room.

"Tell me about it – how on earth did you and yours _live_ there for so long?" Fixxler asked, dropping the luggage he'd grabbed on the bed. "Your mother said being outside the village helped, but. . . ."

"Well, to be fair, we also never got called demons by the pastor," June said with a sigh. "I mean, we all got looks sometimes, and there was that incident with Lord Everglot, but – wait." She turned to him with a baffled look. "My _mother_ said that?"

"June, the whole point of the trip was to visit the Land of the Dead," Alice said with a little chuckle. "Are you really _that_ surprised we ran into your recently-deceased mother in your own hometown?"

"Just. . .you said before you were looking for that 'Elder Gutknecht,' so I didn't think. . .is she all right?" June asked, clasping Alice's hands. "Is she happy?"

"She's just fine, June," Alice promised, smiling. "And so is your brother."

"Jeremy? You met Jeremy too?!"

"We met _Sam_ , yes," Victor said with a laugh. "Or, as he tends to be known these days, Bonejangles."

"Bone–" June's eyes went round. "Wait a minute, that singing skeleton from your story about Emily – that's my _brother_?!"

Alice succumbed to another giggle. "Again, you're that surprised?"

"Well, it's just – I never met him, and apparently he died on the road, so I didn't. . .and to think. . . ." June shook her head rapidly. "I need tea."

"That would probably be for the best, yes," Alice said, taking her elbow and steering her toward the kitchen. "Since we have yet another surprise to drop on you."

"What now? I _know_ all my sisters are alive – at least, they'd all better be–"

"No, no, this has to do with _my_ family," Alice quickly reassured her. "Specifically, the fact that we found them in Burtonsville, not Oxford. Because apparently my sister and your brother are – an item, let's say?"

June froze, eyes wide. "What? Your Lizzie and – my Jeremy?"

Alice nodded. "Apparently they were getting to know each other Downstairs around the same time frame as Victor and I were growing close up here, and – well, he managed to charm her like no undergraduate ever managed."

"My my. . .the world _cannot_ be that small," June insisted, pinching her nose. "It's like – like we were all _fated_ to know each other at this point!"

Alice grinned at Victor. "Told you so."

"You said she'd say something about 'destiny,' not fate," Victor reminded her, smirking back.

"It's close enough!"

"Well, can you blame me?" June said, shaking her head. "It's coincidence after coincidence with us! Yes, fine, Burtonsville is tiny, but still!" She pulled free of Alice, beelining toward the kitchen door. "I'm putting the kettle on before you knock me to the floor with yet another revelation."

Alice chuckled as she followed, the men in their wake. "Don't worry, that should be the last of them. And if it helps, we were shocked ourselves by the whole thing."

"Yes – of all the people I expected to see there, the Liddells were definitely not on the list," Victor agreed. "But they fit in just fine. They're quite close to your mother too, these days."

"I would hope so, if Lizzie and Jeremy are together," June said, filling the kettle. "Dr. Fixxler, could you see what we have for tea, please?" She grinned at Alice. "Do you think they might get married one day? It would be funny to be able to introduce you as ' _technically_ my sister-in-law' to people."

Alice chuckled. "Well, Lizzie said that she and Bonejangles were taking it slow. . .you don't get over such a miserable suitor as Bumby too quickly. But she didn't completely discount the possibility either." She located a loaf of bread in the pantry. "Oh, by the way, Bonejangles asked us to pass on a message."

"Oh?" June asked, putting the kettle on to boil.

"Yes." Alice came over and poked her in the shoulder. "Stop calling him Jeremy!"

"What?" June rubbed her arm, blinking. "But that's his name!"

"Maybe, but he _hates_ it, June," Victor explained, trying not to smile. "He prefers Sam. Or Bonejangles, obviously."

"He also said that everyone else in the family always called him Sam," Dr. Fixxler added, looking through a cupboard. "I only see Earl Grey – is that all right with everyone?" Alice, Victor, and June all nodded. "All righty then. . .you're apparently the only one to ever call him Jeremy," he continued, pulling out the box and tossing it to June. "Why is that?"

June's face flushed an embarrassed red. "Well, it's – it's a bit silly, really," she admitted, twisting her braid around her fingers. "I don't even remember it very well now, but – when I was about four years old, Mama and my sisters took me to visit Jerem- _Sam's_ grave. Nora showed me how to sound out the name chiseled on his stone – I was very proud when I managed to say it all right. So proud, in fact, that whenever I heard someone refer to him as 'Sam' or 'Samuel,' I automatically corrected them. And when Mama tried to stop me, I – um – threw a bit of a fit," she confessed, cheeks going even darker. "Yelling that his name was _Jeremy_ , it was on his _stone_ , I _knew_ what it said. . .and I guess neither Mama nor my sisters felt it worth fighting with me about. In fact, I recall that as we were leaving, Hester told Claire, 'Well, he's dead anyway – what does he care?'"

"Rather a lot, as it turns out," Alice said, pulling out the cutting board. Victor kindly opened the cutlery drawer and handed her the bread knife. "Thank you. . .he actually refused to tell Lizzie his first name for the longest time because he thought it didn't suit him."

June winced. "Oh dear. . .I never meant any offense! I just. . .it made me feel a bit closer to him, honestly. Everyone says we look kind of alike, and we were both the J-names in the family, so. . . ." She worried her lip. "I probably should have guessed he wouldn't be fond of it, though. My father was the one to choose the name – Mama told me so. And he was – well, my sisters said he was nice when he was around, but I never knew him. He was long gone before I was born. Gambling debts gone wrong, Mama said. Why she never liked to see us playing with dice or daring each other to do things. I don't think she ever forgave him for disappearing – and I'm not sure Jer- _Sam_ did either."

"It's all right, June," Victor assured her, going over to pat her back. "I'm sure he'll forgive you once he learns you were just trying to honor his memory."

"Exactly," Alice agreed. "Don't blame yourself for a mistake you made when you were just barely out of diapers. Just try to do better now."

"I'll try," June promised, nodding. "Though it'll take some doing to train my tongue to say 'Sam' instead."

"Well, if it helps, it's hard for me to think of him as 'Sam' myself," Victor said, smiling. "He really is more of a 'Bonejangles.'"

"Maybe, but that'll just cause _more_ confusion every time I start recounting my family history!" June pointed out with a giggle. "Especially among my sisters. But I'll get it down eventually. For his sake."

"That's the spirit," Dr. Fixxler said. "Anything else I can help with?"

"Well, Alice seems to have the bread in order. . .how about getting out some biscuits, while you're over there," June said, checking on the kettle. "We should have a fresh box of chocolate digestives."

"Oooh – yes, please," Victor nodded, licking his lips.

Alice snorted. "Anything with chocolate is a must-have, hmmm?"

"You're the same way with cake," Victor retorted. Alice shrugged a shoulder, giving him the point. He moved a little closer, dropping his voice. "So that went well. Though she didn't bounce around quite as much as expected."

"Give it a bit," Alice said, watching as June tended to the kettle. "Once the shock wears off. But I didn't think it would go badly. June believes our stories, and – well, it's _good_ news we've given her. Her mother and brother are happy Downstairs, and if she ever ventures back to Burtonsville on Halloween, she can see them again. And we can pass on letters in the meantime, if she likes."

"Mmm – we should probably at least send a note along saying that the 'Jeremy' business has been cleared up," Victor agreed, smiling. He glanced down at the floor, then back at her. "So - that's part one of our trip officially done. What about part two?"

Landscapes raced across Alice's mind – the Vale of Tears, full of rainbow-tinted trees and swirly bouncy mushrooms. . .Hatter's Domain, a floating armada of factories under a toxic green sky. . .the Deluded Depths, miles of deep blue water, brittle white coral, soft yellow sand, and shattered brown shipwrecks. . .the Mysterious East, origami villages and blue-and-white-china all advancing up a tiny mountain of jade. . .Queensland, glorious in its wreckage, dead tentacles reaching to the sky, a bloody red heart still beating at its center. . .the Dollhouse, fading colors brightening with new life, old battered toys finding love and warmth again. "Give me tonight just to get used to sleeping in my _own_ bed again," she said, touching his arm. "And then tomorrow – we'll go. I promise."

Victor beamed. "I can't wait."

Alice smiled back, heart fluttering. "Please try. I'll be worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->Alice's final battle with the Jabberwock -- specifically, the moment she tells him she can bear the weight of her own sins and he's no longer needed -- draws a bit of inspiration from James Sunderland of _Silent Hill 2_ going up against his Pyramid Heads.
> 
> \-->The big fountain in the middle of the memorial garden that you can sit on was inspired by a similar fountain in _Sims 4_! I'm actually tempted to see if I can make the memorial park in the game now. . .


	10. The Grand Wonderland Tour

February 6th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

9:35 P.M.

"So – tonight's really the night?"

Alice regarded Victor with a smile that was equal parts amusement and exasperation as she turned down the bedclothes. "Victor, I promised you yesterday that it was. Do you believe me so fickle I'd change my mind this soon?"

Victor blushed, dropping his gaze to his feet. "No, of c-course not. Sorry, I'm just – I'm so e-excited and anxious all at once," he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I wanted to be s-sure you were ready. It's a b-big thing we're doing, after all."

"Bigger than breaking the veil between the living and the dead?" Alice asked, fluffing a pillow.

Victor waved a hand flippantly. "Oh, _that_? I've done that so often it's almost routine."

"Twice is routine?"

"Three times!" Victor retorted, matching his words with his fingers. "I may not have been Upstairs long, but going to see Victoria after I married Emily counts."

Alice shrugged. "I'll give you that. But it's still a very low threshold for 'routine.'"

"I said _almost_ ," Victor corrected, grinning. "And to be fair, people are _meant_ to travel between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead. Only the once, admittedly, but still. Going into someone's very mind. . . ." His hand found his pajama collar, twisting up the corner. "That's something else again."

"True," Alice allowed. "Honestly, I'm glad there's such high barriers for entry. I don't want just anyone traipsing around my Wonderland – particularly after what the Dollmaker did to it." She grimaced as she remembered charred islands whisking through a blood-red sky, ready to crumble to ash at a moment's notice. "It's always been very close to my heart."

_"Did you move your brain then?"_ Hatter asked, abruptly looming over her for a cranial examination.

_No – and get back to your domain!_ Alice scolded, giving him a mental swat. _I'll be there before the hour's out, and I'm counting on you to ensure that Madcaps don't harass us every step of the way through your factories!_

_"Fine, fine!"_ Hatter grumbled, straightening up as he faded from view. _"Miss Hammerhead strikes again, I see!"_

_Well, you shouldn't do such a good job of looking like a nail._ "Even when the residents annoy me," she added, rolling her eyes as she gave her pillow a final punch. "Which is good, because they do it often enough. I'm so glad they heed my calls to leave so much more readily now. . . ."

"Me too," Victor said, still fiddling with his collar. "You're – t-this won't undo all your progress, w-will it? I don't want to be responsible for you attempting to slaughter your wardrobe again."

"You won't be," Alice assured him. "The Jabberwock is gone, the Dollmaker is destroyed, and the Queen of Hearts is content to stay in her chamber under her castle. I'm settled in a way I haven't been since I was small. I truly believe the days of me completely losing my grip on reality are long over with." She came around the bed, reaching up to rub his shoulder. "Besides, I _want_ you to see Wonderland. I've wanted it for quite a while now. You're not an intruder, like Bumby – you're an invited guest." She gave him a smile. "One whom the residents already think quite fondly of, I might add."

Victor's blush reappeared, strawberry red spreading across his cheeks. "Thank you," he murmured. "I know that, I do. It's just – you know my policy on hurting you."

"Same as my policy on hurting you," Alice nodded. "Hence my own delay on this moment. But I don't think either of us have anything to fear. Wonderland's as safe as it can possibly get after everything that's happened. And I trust you not to muck up the place."

For a couple of seconds, a strange mixture of what seemed to be fear and guilt flickered across Victor's face. Then he set his jaw and squared his shoulders, like a soldier off to some foreign war. "I won't," he said, voice low and intense. "I promise."

Alice frowned, raising an eyebrow. "You – don't have to take it _that_ seriously."

"I do. It's your mind. It's the most precious thing about you." Victor gritted his teeth. "I will _not_ pollute it again."

The chimes of the Origami Ant Monks' temple played in the back of her brain – only this time, they sounded more like warning bells. "Victor – you're sure _you're_ ready for this?" she asked, eyeing him. "Just that – you seem – _frightened_ of something."

"No, of course I'm – I. . . ." Victor sighed, slumping as the protest died under her suspicious look. "It's – it's my nightmares," he confessed softly. "I keep t-thinking – we d-don't know exactly how this works. And I. . . ." He yanked on his collar, looking away. "I don't want the Bumby in my head somehow escaping into yours."

"Ah. Right." Alice chewed her lower lip. She should have guessed this would be an issue. After all, she could count on the fingers of one hand how many nights they'd slept together peacefully during their trip. Even last night, when they both should have been too relieved at being back in their own room to even think about insomnia, the pattern had repeated itself – the creak of the mattress, the sight of Victor getting up for a late-night walk, the building anxiety as she tried to guess just what his mind had done to him this time. Yes, he hadn't yet repeated that horrific scene where he'd almost torn his face off, hands clawing at his eyes as if he hoped to gouge them out – but watching him leave her again and again, murmuring that he just needed a second to clear his head, wasn't much better. And then, when he came back, there would always be that moment where he stood in the doorway, staring at her like she was a tiger and he was wearing a suit of fresh-cut strip steak. Wringing his hands with a terrified guilt in his eyes. He'd always returned to her so far – oftentimes catching her in an embrace that threatened to break ribs – but she couldn't help but wonder if, one night, he'd just. . .disappear again, succumbing to whatever dark thoughts kept him away.

That was the worst part, actually – the fact that she had no idea what those dark thoughts _were_. Victor usually offered up a _few_ details – typically involving Ruin snaking its way into his body – but he always avoided giving her a full picture. "You don't want to k-know more," he insisted when she pressed. "Y-you'll just have nightmares too." Which was probably true, but she wasn't exactly resting easy with her head full of questions either. And given how Victor had dodged Dr. Wilson's inquiries about his sleeping habits after dinner last night, he had no intentions of talking about them to the local psychiatrist either. She unconsciously squeezed the front of her nightgown. It was just – bloody _frustrating_ , like a block puzzle with a piece missing, or a wrong note in the middle of a musical scroll. She'd tried to give him his space, hoped that maybe the trip back to the Land of the Dead and his friends would be enough to settle his mind, but. . . .

_"It appears that your dear Victor is still stuck, Alice, despite his best efforts. One of your famous 'taps' might be your only choice."_

_That book was as tall as I was, Cheshire – a mere tap wouldn't have done squat to loosen the cover,_ Alice retorted. _But – and you should remember this moment always – I think you're right. I've given him the chance to balance himself, and it hasn't worked. We're in the same rut that we were in over a fortnight ago – hesitant kisses and dismal sleep._ She sighed softly. _I don't doubt he's tried – I can't see anyone suffering his nightmares willingly. But if he can't move on his own – it's time for a push._

_But not tonight,_ she added, before Cheshire could come in with a smug comment. _Tonight is for happy things. There will be plenty of time to discuss secrets and nightmares tomorrow. And who knows? Perhaps, after being let into my very mind, Victor will be more inclined to talk._

_"There is always that chance,"_ Cheshire allowed, his invisible body rubbing against the back of her legs. _"And perhaps, after allowing him in, you'll be able to better see what you're facing. His fears of his Otherland merging with yours might in fact be his salvation."_

_Maybe, but. . . ._ "I don't the spell works quite like that," she said aloud, pulling Victor into an embrace. "And even if it does. . .Victor, a second chance to slaughter that bastard? That's not polluting my mind – that's giving me a present."

To her relief, Victor snorted. "Rather awful present! I'd rather give you another omega necklace."

" _One_ sterling silver piece of jewelry is probably enough for Whitechapel," Alice said, smiling. She faked a shiver. "And it would still be better than that horrible green dress Witless gave me when I got out of the asylum."

"You were _entirely_ too happy to dump that at the rag shop."

"That dress was a crime against color and good taste," Alice argued. "I wasn't about to keep it once I had the funds to buy something better." She reached up, brushing his bangs back from his narrow forehead. "You have always been a perfect gentleman to me. I trust you to treat my mind with respect. I wouldn't be taking you to Wonderland if I thought there was the least bit of danger to either of us."

Victor nodded. "Right. Sorry, you know h-how worry gets the best of me." He took her hands and squeezed them lightly. "I promise you, though – if something _does_ happen, I'll be right by your side to fight it off."

"Same," Alice nodded. "Though hopefully it'll be nothing more than an opportunistic Snark taking a snap at us from the river. I _tried_ to eradicate the little monsters, but they apparently breed faster than Rabbit's family." She sighed. "If worse comes to worst, at least I know you can handle some of my weapons. And that there's no way for you to permanently die there."

"That was nice to hear," Victor admitted. "I liked seeing the Land of the Dead again, but I'm not ready to become a resident."

"Me either." Alice kissed his cheek, then pulled away to grab her sketchbook from her shelves. "All right – ready to board the Looking-Glass Line? Or do you need one more moment to go to the toilet?"

Victor laughed. "No, no, I'm fine. Though – Looking-Glass Line?"

"Dr. Fixxler told us we needed written permission to get into each other's heads," Alice reminded him, pulling out a piece of paper and handing it over. "But that's boring, so. . . ."

Victor looked down at her meticulously hand-drawn ticket. "'Admit One – General Wonderland Tour,'" he read. "'By Permission of Alice Liddell, owner. Courtesy of the Looking-Glass Railway, est. 1863.'" He looked back up at her with a grin. "You're adorable when you want to be, you know that?"

"Don't let it become general knowledge – I have a reputation to keep," Alice teased back. "We'll probably be using the portals more than the train once we're in Wonderland itself, but that should more than suffice to drop you down the rabbit hole."

"I hope so." Victor's brow furrowed. "Do you think I have to hold onto it?"

"Dr. Fixxler didn't say anything about that. . .then again, he forgot the bit about written invitations the first time he told me about this, so. . . ." Alice shrugged. "We'll try it without for starters – if nothing happens after ten minutes, then we'll have you hang onto it."

"All right then. I'd just like to keep it if at all possible." Victor retrieved his own sketchbook, tucking the ticket carefully into the back, then climbed into bed, bunching himself up against the wall. "All aboard!"

"Leaving the station," Alice joked back, extinguishing the lamp. She hopped in next to him, pulling up the covers. "We really are lucky you're as thin as you are," she added, wiggling around a bit to find the most comfortable spot. "Trying this if you had even the slightest ounce of fat on you would be very tricky indeed."

"I'm about ready for a double bed, yes," Victor admitted, squirming around himself. His hand found hers under the blanket, interlocking their fingers like a jigsaw. "At least we shouldn't notice any lumps tonight."

"A very handy side benefit," Alice agreed. She rolled half on her side to give him another quick peck. "See you in the Vale of Tears."

"Until then," Victor nodded, returning it to her cheek.

Alice smiled, then straightened out again and dropped her head against the pillow, shutting her eyes tight. Beneath her, the bed creaked as they settled in for the night. _All right – I know exactly where I want to go and how I want to get there, so_ _whenever_ _you're ready, Wonderland!_ She shifted, making the mattress bounce slightly. _And if you could be ready sooner rather than later,_ _so this damn spring w_ _ill_ _stop poking me in the shoulder_ _. . . ._

For maybe half a minute, it seemed like the spell wouldn't take – that, for once, Wonderland was going to be shy about dragging her in. Then, just like that, the spring jabbing her disappeared – along with the rest of the mattress. Alice grinned as she toppled downward, hair streaming in the wind and nightgown flapping about her ankles. _At last!_ _Now it's just a case of meeting Victor at the bot_ _–_

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Alice's eyes snapped open, just in time to see a familiar pale hand sweep across her face. Twisting her neck revealed Victor tumbling head over heels beside her, waving his arms and legs frantically in an attempt to slow his descent. "Oh! And here's me thinking we'd meet in Wonderland proper," she said, looking at him upside-down. "I guess if I dream of falling down the rabbit hole, you have to as well. Are you all right?"

"I didn't expect the bed to just _vanish_ like that!" Victor cried, still spinning. A booming grandfather clock flew by, just missing his head. "It could have given me a little warning!"

"Sorry, Victor – if _I_ don't usually get one, I wouldn't expect Wonderland to extend you that courtesy." She dragged her fingers along the spine of a book sailing past. "It's fine, though, really. Nothing here's going to hurt you."

Victor finally got himself pointed face-down, limbs spread wide like a very ineffective flying squirrel. "You're sure?" he asked, eyeing a pointy-topped globe revolving its way past him.

"Well, even during the worst days, nothing's ever actually hit me whenever I plunge – _ooof!_ "

Her back collided with something soft and springy, and for a split second she was flying up instead of down. "Alice!" Victor cried, managing to flip himself over –

Just in time for gravity to reassert its hold on her and send her crashing into his chest. They both gasped, limbs tangling together as they spun past a nightstand, lamp, and a couple of loose pillows. Alice jerked her head around to see a bed gliding leisurely downward, its blankets in disarray. "You know, perhaps that's only because I'm usually looking where I'm going," she admitted, turning her gaze back to the bottom of the hole.

"Y-you're all right?" Victor asked, squeezing her tight against him.

"Fine – more annoyed by the irony than anything." With a shimmery _clinkclatterclink_ , a cutlery drawer dumped out its contents beside them, sending a parade of glittering knives, forks, and spoons streaming down the foggy wall. "And glad I got knocked into you rather than those."

"Me too." Victor eyed a carving knife as it tumbled past them. " _Why_ do you have things like beds and silverware and lamps down here anyway?"

"I _assume_ they're Rabbit's, given it is a _rabbit_ hole," Alice replied, kicking a ladle away. "Though he does own a proper house, so. . . ." She shrugged. "I never really gave it much thought, honestly. It was all here already the first time I fell down. And now. . .well." She watched an empty jar of strawberry jam fly upwards. "When I was called back during my asylum days to fight the Queen, my first inkling something was seriously wrong was that the hole was empty – just me and the fog."

"Oh." Victor frowned as a rug flapped past him. "Did something similar happen with the D-Dollmaker?"

"Funnily enough, no – he'd left my things in place. But his Ruin had infested the lower half of the hole – all black gunk and rusted pipes. Which also served well enough as a warning." She spotted a circle of blue below them, growing larger every second. "Speaking of warnings, our journey's almost at its end."

Victor swallowed. "Should I b-brace myself?"

"Only if it makes you feel better," Alice said, patting his back. "We'll slow down before we land. Sending me flying into a soft bed is one thing – rocketing me into the hard earth is another." She hooked her ankles around his legs (eliciting a funny strangled sort of noise from his throat), then twisted them around so they were falling feet-first. "Deep breaths, okay?" she said, squeezing him reassuringly. "You'll like it once we land. I promise."

Victor gave her a nervous smile – then gasped as they plunged out of the tunnel, straight into a thick white cloud. Alice gave him another squeeze before shutting her eyes again. _All right, time to get dressed – can't_ _go visiting in my nightclothes, after all_ _!_ _Nor can Victor – what should I put him in?_

Automatically, her mind went to the suit she saw him wear the most – the charcoal-colored jacket and matching striped pants, paired with a red waistcoat and blue tie. She frowned slightly. It was a good, familiar look for him – but wasn't it a bit _mundane_ for Wonderland? He needed something with a bit more color if he was going to fit in here. . . _Too bad I can't lend him any of my outfits,_ she thought, touching her nightgown. _Not unless my dress suddenly sprouts trousers and his suit trades for a skirt_ _–_

A swell of warmth and light turned the blackness behind her eyelids glowing gold. _Ooops! Damn it, out of time._ She sighed as an invisible force gripped them, slowing their rapid plunge to a gentle crawl. _Well, he'll look good whatever he's in, I'm sure. And even if he doesn't, if my last trip here is any indication, it'll change the moment we step foot into Hatter's Domain._ She opened her eyes and smiled at him as they drifted to the ground. "There. Not so bad in the end, was it?"

Victor barely paid any attention to her, head revolving like an owl's as he tried to take in everything at once. "No. . . ." He reached out and plucked a pink leaf from a passing branch, then turned his gaze downward to watch as a blue candle flower opened wide in greeting. "Not at all." His eyes went back toward the sky, bright and crisp, with marbles slowly revolving overhead like tiny moons. "Oh, Alice. . .it's even more wonderful than I thought."

Alice couldn't help her blush. "Well, I made an effort just for you," she pointed out as their feet touched down on a chunk of emerald grass. She released him and did a quick scan for anything more vicious than a googly-eyed snail lurking about. "And of course, the Vale of Tears is usually one of the more – oh!"

"Oh what?" Victor asked, watching some dominoes follow the marbles in their steady course.

Alice grinned, tugging the end of his jacket. "Look at this – we match!"

"We do?" Victor looked down, then blinked as he found himself attired in blue. "Oh! I wasn't expecting. . .I thought I'd just be in my usual suit," he admitted, running a curious hand up his navy-striped leg. "Though I guess it isn't that different. . . ." He pulled back his lapel to take a look at the white waistcoat, then touched the silver A holding his sky-blue tie in place. "I guess both of us have to – wear. . .the. . . ."

He trailed off, staring at her dress like he'd never seen it before. "Victor?" Alice asked, following his gaze. "What is it? I've shown this off to you a couple of – what."

This last was directed at her skirt, which was decidedly _not_ the familiar blue. Instead, it sported thin vertical stripes of alternating dark and light gray. Above it was a charcoal suit jacket (so _that's_ why she'd felt a bit warm), buttoned over a red waistcoat. And, like Victor, she was sporting a blue tie with a silver clip, hers in the shape of her ever-present omega. "How did – this looks like–"

And then it hit her. What she'd thought right before Wonderland had transformed them both. "Not unless my dress suddenly sprouts trousers and your suit trades for a skirt," she groaned, slapping her forehead. "I should have _known_ my brain would seize upon the opportunity to play silly buggers."

"Don't feel too badly – I admit that I myself am surprised to see you take me up on my suggestion that you should swap clothes."

Victor jumped, looking around wildly. "What the–"

"He's over there," Alice said, touching his arm before pointing out a set of bloodstained teeth hovering in a wide arc over a flat-capped orange mushroom. "It was purely by accident," she added in their general direction. She spread the skirt, looking over the outfit critically. "It's not a bad look though, I suppose. Speaking of which, how about you put in the effort to show yourself properly? We have a guest, after all."

Two yellow eyes winked into existence above the smile. "There _are_ those who might call him an intruder."

"I – I don't want to c-cause any t-trouble–" Victor started, holding up his hands.

"Oh, no trouble at all," Cheshire assured him, as the rest of his body faded into view. "I never said any of those people were _here_. The only example I can think of recently met a train."

"Don't be an arse," Alice scolded, hands on her hips. "He's only just arrived."

"Not _entirely_ true – an echo of him has been here for months now," Cheshire replied, tail flopping from side to side. "Or have you forgotten your butterflies so easily?"

"If you're talking about my dodging talents, I'd argue that's more an echo of Emily," she said, frowning. "If you mean my crystal memories. . .well, I'll have to give you that."

"Keep them for yourself – I know you want to." Cheshire turned his grin on Victor. "The famous artiste finally meets his muse in person. How does the reality – such as it is – compare?"

"It's beautiful," Victor whispered. He turned in a slow circle, taking everything in with a reverent gaze. "My drawings aren't a patch on the real thing."

"Don't be like that," Alice said, poking his arm with a smile. "I wouldn't have them up all over my room if I didn't think you captured Wonderland better than any other artist I've met – including myself."

"I wouldn't say that. You're quite skilled with your pencil now that the Insane Children have surrendered your talents," Victor pointed out.

"Yes, but I have the option of erasing my mistakes. You can turn an accidental splotch into something wonderful."

"You learn to adapt with ink," Victor said, shrugging. "Or you throw away a lot of half-finished sketches." He leaned over Cheshire, studying him. "I don't think I ever got you quite skinny enough. You poor thing, you're almost nothing but bones."

"When one is the pet of the Duchess, one quickly learns to eschew gaining any tempting meat and fat," Cheshire replied. He pawed at Victor's stomach. "A lesson you have taken to heart yourself, I see. You needn't worry about taking him to see her, Alice – even if she was in the mood for long pork instead of short, she'd consider him little more than a toothpick."

"I am in no mood to listen to a bunch of random morals," Alice replied. "Besides, we can't linger here too long – we have a lot of ground to cover, magical portals notwithstanding."

"We have the whole night, Alice," Victor reminded her, hesitantly reaching out and scratching Cheshire a few times behind the ears. To her surprise and amusement, the Cat purred and nudged Victor's hand for more. "And it's so gorgeous here – we can stay for a bit, can't we?"

Alice smiled. "Of course. I didn't mean that we had to rush off right now. We should pause a minute and at least decide what the best route would be."

"Take as much time as you need," Cheshire said, rubbing his face all over Victor's fingers.

Alice snorted. "You greedy thing. You could have told me a little petting was all it took to get into your good books."

"Your fingers aren't as talented as Master Van Dort's," Cheshire replied, bringing a blush to Victor's cheeks. "If you weren't already bound on keeping him, I would insist now that you do so."

"Good thing we're in agreement then." She rocked on her heels, pondering their options. "So – we could chase down some of the waterfalls at the edge of the island, if you like. Or hunt some nutterflies. Or seek out the Drink Me pool – you might need the ability to shrink at will too, depending on where we go."

"Of course – this has nothing to do with you wanting to be the taller one for a change?" Victor said blandly, though his tone was betrayed by his smile.

Alice smirked back. "Side benefit. Or maybe we could just play on the bouncy mushrooms for–"

An image sprang into her head, familiar and sweet. She snapped her fingers and grinned. "Actually, no – I know _exactly_ what to show you first."

* * *

"You never did get over missing out on visiting the slide at Hyde Park, did you?"

"Nope," Alice confessed cheerily, looking down at the winding chalkboard serpent before them. "And no cracks about how I could go now if I wanted to. People generally look poorly on adult women making use of playground equipment."

"I thought you didn't care about anyone's opinion," Victor teased, poking her shoulder.

"I care if it means possibly being ejected from the park," Alice responded. "Besides, this is better than the Hyde Park slide will ever be." She straightened her tie. "And, more importantly, it's where I found my first memory of you in Wonderland."

Victor blinked. "Really?"

Alice nodded. "Right where you're standing, actually," she said, making him automatically look down. "Just a little moment we shared in the spring, not long after my birthday. You were telling me how you'd loved butterflies all of your life while showing off some of your – sketches."

Victor's face fell briefly. Then he shook his head and gamely mustered up a smile. "T-that was a nice day. And I'm – I'm glad they live on in your memory, at least."

Alice touched his arm. "You're allowed to still be upset about it," she told him softly. "I know it's hardly the worst Bumby did to you, but – I also know how hard you worked on them. How much they meant to you. I'd be sad too if I'd lost all my drawings."

"I know, but – I'm trying not to dwell," Victor said, rubbing the back of his head. "It's probably not healthy." He looked up as a shadow fell over them. "And, uh, I'm not really in the mood to get rained on."

Alice followed his gaze to find gray clouds gathering above them, blocking the sun and darkening the trees. "I do have an umbrella, if it comes to that," she reminded him, before sweeping her hand across the sky. The clouds obligingly fell apart into mere wisps, releasing the sun's rays. "But I'm with you – let's save getting wet for the Deluded Depths. For now. . . ." She grinned and tapped his shoulder. "Tag! You're it!"

"What – hey!" Victor tried to grab her, but she butterflied out of reach. She quickly sat down and pushed off before he could recover. "Get back here!"

"Rather hard to go backward on one of these!" Alice called as she slid away. "I assume you know that, anyway – I noticed Burtonsville was rather lacking in amusements for children!"

"I've been on a slide before!" Victor shouted, plopping himself down and pushing off. "Though not in some years, admittedly. . .they rather lose their charm when you end up taller than most of them."

"Not a problem with this one," Alice said, leaning into a curve as they sailed past a tree. " _And_ it doesn't just go straight down. I always thought that looked rather boring."

"This _is_ rather fun," Victor admitted, finally cracking a smile as they looped around another towering trunk. "Too bad the ride is always over so quickly, isn't it?"

"Gravity," Alice shrugged, leaning back to look at him. "Even in Wonderland, some things must hold true."

"I find that hard to believe when you have whole forests floating in – uh–"

Victor stopped, eyes widening. "Uh, Alice?" he asked, craning his head as they started down the final long slope.

"Yes?"

"Is it just me, or does the slide not go all the way to the ground?"

"Not just you." Alice glanced back to see him biting his lip. "Oh, don't worry – all you have to do is jump."

"And probably plant my face right into that river," Victor replied, leaning back in an attempt to slow himself.

"Not if you do it right. Remember what I told you about twirling and floating?"

Victor eyed her skirt, then his trousers. "I – don't think that's going to work as well for me as it does for you."

"Oh yes it is. Otherwise Wonderland and I are going to have words." Her chalk-stained bottom hit the open air, and she promptly leapt upward, gray stripes all aswirl as she rode a cushion of feathers and butterfly wings to the moss-covered rocks below. "You'll be fine! Now _jump_!"

Victor squeaked but did so, springing from his seated position and spinning like a clockwork ballerina. For a split-second, it appeared that Wonderland _was_ going to play a nasty prank on him and let him fall – but then a swirl of bright purple light twined around his legs, holding him up. A spray of autumnal leaves followed him as he drifted toward the ground, glowing butterflies playing around his feet. He gaped for a moment, astonished – then his face lit up in the biggest, brightest smile she'd ever seen on him. "Oh – oh _wow_!"

Alice snorted as she landed. "Yes, I figured you'd like that."

"Like it? I _love_ it!" Victor's feet touched the earth, only to immediately bounce back into the air. Three quick turns brought them level with Alice's eyes as he reached for the sky. "Oh, it's better than I ever imagined! How do you manage to _walk_ anywhere when you can do this?!"

"I don't, usually – I run," Alice corrected as he bounded in circles around around her, scattering leaves everywhere. "And I was on a – a rather important mission the – the last time I was – here. . .can you calm down, please? You're making me giddy."

Victor giggled as he finally landed, brushing away a few orange and red stragglers from his trousers. "Sorry, sorry," he said, still bouncing on his toes. "It's just – I've _always_ wanted to fly under my own power, but I never thought. . . ."

Alice laughed. "Wait until we hit Cardbridge. You'll truly feel like a bird then."

"Oh, I can bet. . . ." Victor looked around, idly kicking a leaf into the river at their side. It swirled for a second in the current before disappearing over the edge of the waterfall. "So where are we now?"

"The pool where the Vorpal Blade returned to me," Alice said, wading into the water. _Thank God that self-pitying statue of me is weeping regular tears instead of blood now!_ She led him along the narrow path between the trees and boulders, into the little lake cupped by stone and moss. "The Jabberwock's skeleton was here too," she added, waving at the low island rising out of the wet. "But it blew away after the Blade pulled itself free of his head."

"Oh," Victor frowned slightly. "Too bad – I would have liked to have seen it. Or kick it."

"I would too," Alice admitted. "But really, I'm quite satisfied with how our final encounter went. Better to know he's gone for good than worry about the risk of him coming back."

"Fair enough." Victor looked down at his reflection in the water. "Have I said how glad I am that he isn't going to be bothering you anymore?"

"You have, but I don't mind a repeat," Alice said, doing the same. He didn't look half-bad in all blue. And the suit actually suited (heh) her rather well. "Especially since I lay most of the credit for his disappearance at your feet."

Victor raised a puzzled eyebrow at her. "What? _You're_ the one who kept killing him over and over."

"Yes, but _you're_ the one who always encouraged me to keep fighting," Alice told him. "Back in Rutledge, I didn't really. . .I had Nanny and Dr. Wilson and Nurse Darling on my side, I suppose, but I don't think any of them seriously expected me to get better. I was so far gone, it was hard for anyone to see any hope in me. Even after I got out, no one thought I'd get to the point of being able to join regular society. I mean, Dr. Bumby was always _saying_ I would, but I didn't think he really meant it at the time. And we know what he had planned for me now," she added, glaring at a nearby tree as if it held the essence of the doctor within it. "You were the first one to truly believe I _could_ get past my madness and guilt. Who never stopped thinking that I could get better. It may not have been a magical cure-all to my problems, but. . . ." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "It was – _encouraging_ to have someone else cheering me on. Someone I could lean on when it all got to be too much." She waved a hand, encompassing as much of the Vale as she could reach. "I don't think I would have gotten this far – restored so much – if it hadn't been for you being in my life."

Poor Victor's face was as red as the paint on a white rose. "I – Alice, you g-give me too much c-credit," he said, ducking his head. "You are the strongest, most capable woman I've ever met. You didn't need me to save you – you did it all by yourself." He kicked the water, sending a little wave racing across the surface. "And you are _so_ much better than I deserve."

Alice rolled her eyes. "You have a very poor sense of your own self-worth, to think London's most notorious madwoman is _better_ than you."

"You're not really that anymore – not after Tailor's articles," Victor said, swinging his leg and sending up little splashes. "And the Alice I know has always been one of the smartest, most imaginative, funniest, kindest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." He peeked up at her. "I still wonder sometimes what it is you see in me."

"The smartest, kindest, funniest, most interesting man I've ever had the pleasure of meeting," Alice responded, taking his chin and lifting it. "And the most patient, given the nonsense I put you through with my Wonderland wanderings. I'm proud to have you at my side, Victor. And so are my parents and sister, judging by their reactions to you when we visited. You're practically a Liddell yourself, in all but name."

Victor laughed softly. "High praise indeed." He cupped her cheek with his hand. "I'm proud to have your love too. I just want to be sure I'm worthy of–"

_**"SCREEE!"** _

Out of nowhere, a black glob launched itself out of the water, straight at Victor's face. Victor screamed and jerked away, overbalancing and tumbling into the pond. The Slithering Ruin flopped onto his chest, spreading out like an oozy, smothering blanket. Victor slapped at it frantically, churning the water around him into foam. "Ow! _Ow! GET OFF!_ "

"Victor!" Alice dropped to her knees over him, the Vorpal Blade shimmering into existence in her hand. "It's okay, it's all right – just stay still for a minute!"

Victor dug his fingers into the mud, gritting his teeth as the Slithering Ruin squirmed up toward his neck. With one fast slash, Alice opened up the monster's skin like it was a mobile black pudding. The Ruin squealed in startled pain – then, like all its brethren before it, burst apart, reduced to just a few floating bits of glop. Alice dropped the Blade and grabbed the back of Victor's collar, hoisting him up into a sitting position. "Are you all right?" she demanded, feeling his chest. "Can you breathe?"

Victor coughed, then nodded. "Y-yes. . .ow, that went _r-right_ through my suit," he added, whimpering as he rubbed his side. "How can anything feel like both b-burning oil and cold slime at once?"

"I don't know – just another reason to loathe those bastards." Alice ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Victor – I'm so sorry. I seriously thought I'd eradicated every last Ruin of any stripe from the Vale."

"It's all right," Victor said, shaking the water off his head. He gave her a rueful smile. "So much for not getting wet before the Deluded Depths."

"Perhaps we should just consider it a practice run." Alice scanned the area, sighing in relief as she spotted a few freshly-discarded snail shells by the roots of a nearby tree. "Ah, good. . .come with me," she said, hauling Victor to his feet.

"I'm really all right," he tried to insist as she led him over to the shells, clutching his ribcage. "I just need a moment to – to get my breath back."

Alice summoned the Hobby Horse and smashed the shells open with one solid blow. Shining white teeth spilled out of the shattered remains, along with a few glittering red crystal roses. "You'll need a moment less if you take one of those," she said, pointing to the latter. "Do it quickly – they don't last forever."

Victor obeyed, scooping up a flower with his free arm. The moment his hand made contact, it vanished in a flash of crimson light. Victor blinked, then stood up straighter, letting his other arm drop. "Oh. Oooh, yes, that's much better," he nodded, touching his sternum. "Meta-essence, right?"

"Life force of Wonderland," Alice confirmed, gathering up the teeth. _Maybe I can barter with Yves later for a shiny new Croquet Mallet, or a sharper set of Jacks._ "It comes in a few shapes, but the roses seem to be most popular with my brain now. Maybe the color just reminds me of the Queen's famous garden."

"Right." Victor picked up another flower, sighing as the health-giving flash enveloped him. "I wish I'd known how to get these during my fight with the wall."

Alice winced. "Sorry – they're supposed to drop from enemies too," she said, looking back at the slowly-dissolving remains of the Ruin. "I should have let you know before we went to sleep that night. Just I was so bloody tired from walking over half of London with you. . . ."

"It's fine – I didn't think of it either," Victor said, taking the final rose. "I just wanted to get there and have it all done with." He pulled her into a hug. "I'm all right. Truly. It just – it t-took me by surprise, and then it just _s-stung_. But I'm okay now."

Alice wrapped her arms tight around him. "I believe you. It's only. . .I promised nothing would happen to you," she whispered. "I don't like Wonderland making me a liar."

"You didn't know it was there. Didn't you tell me those Ruins could pop up randomly out of nowhere?" Victor paused, then added softly, "And – and if me being bait can help ferret out the last of the corruption in your mind–"

Alice slapped her hand over his mouth. "You are _never_ to talk about yourself as 'bait' again, all right?" she informed him with a stern frown. "That is _not_ the reason I brought you here."

Victor blushed and looked at his feet. "I'm just saying. . . ."

"Well, don't. Besides, Victor, it doesn't even make sense – if it's my mind, the Slithering Ruins should be going after _me_ , not you. You were probably just in the way of that one." She sighed. "All this proves is, despite my best efforts, you are going to need something to defend yourself. Anything in particular you'd like?"

Victor rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I – I might have one thing already. I mean, if this is Wonderland. . .I should be able to pull weapons from the ether, right? Same as you?"

"I don't see why not." Alice suddenly grinned. "Such as the famous Vorpal Fork?"

Victor's head turned a deep pink. "Maybe," he mumbled, not looking at her.

"Oh, no, Victor, I'm not trying to make fun," Alice quickly reassured him. "I want to see it, I really do." She flicked the Vorpal Blade back into her hand. "My most loyal weapon is based on the family carving knife. Would be rather hypocritical for me to tease you for using cutlery as a weapon. And that's not even getting into the croquet mallet that spits electricity, or the playing cards that slit throats, or the hobby horse that can shatter bones, or the teapot that can shoot boiling tea bombs. . . ."

Victor laughed. "Point taken." He shut his eyes and extended his hand, concentrating –

The air shimmered, and into his fingers dropped a long barbecue fork. Victor beamed, opening his eyes. "Ha! I did – it?"

He blinked, tilting his head as he examined his weapon. "Huh. It didn't look quite like this before."

"No?" Alice asked, taking a gander. The fork was about as long as her Blade, shining silver in the sunlight. The metal was etched with twisting vines, curling around the shaft and tines in little flowery knots. On the wooden handle, delicate butterflies flitted about in the spaces between Victor's fingers, the carvings highlighted with the faintest touch of blue paint in the cracks. "I think it's all very you."

"Oh, I'm not complaining, just – the one I had before looked a lot more like the one I'd actually gotten from Ms. Plum," Victor explained, touching a tine with his finger. He winced and drew it away, leaving a tinge of red behind. "I wasn't thinking of anything fancier at the time. Mostly because it was hard for me to think of anything at all."

"Ah. Well, maybe your subconscious took a cue from seeing this up close and personal," Alice suggested, holding up the Blade.

"Maybe." Victor swished it around a few times, watching the tines draw blue slashes through the air. "So long as it works as well as yours." He opened his hand and let the Fork tumble away into the ether, before giving Alice a smile. "All right – I've met my first Wonderlander, gone down my first slide, enjoyed my first float, and survived my first run-in with a monster. What's next?"

* * *

"Come now, Alice – the way you're staring at your plate, you'd think I was trying to poison you again! Which I'm not. Just want to make that clear."

"I believe you," Alice assured him. "It's just. . .this really isn't typical for tea, is it?"

"This isn't a typical tea!" Hatter responded, leaning on his cane. "It's a welcoming party! We went and fetched these from the Vale especially for you and Victor."

"And we appreciate the effort." Alice squinted at the snail resting on her plate – green with a peppermint-striped shell, sporting a little scoop of pink custard and a cherry. "But, as I thought I made clear last time, I have a natural aversion to eating anything that I can hold a staring contest with."

"You didn't – you objected to it _moving_ last time," Hatter retorted. He bit into a slice of bread and butter. "Not a word about it staring at you. And if you never ate anything that stared at you, you'd be like March and Dormy and eat nothing but plants."

"Generally the first step of turning an animal into meat is removing the eyes," Alice pointed out.

"Yeah – don't want to be reminded of yer guilt in killing a poor wee innocent hare," March declared, fixing some fresh straw into his fur.

"Or a dormouse," Dormy murmured behind a yawn.

"I've never heard of anyone eating a dormouse – at least, not in my part of England. Edith from school once kept one in a teapot as a pet, though."

"That's nice," Dormy mumbled – then abruptly perked up, glaring at Hatter and Hare. "Hey! You two liked to stuff _me_ in the teapot whenever you got the chance!" he snapped, tail stiff with indignation. "Am I just a pet to you?"

"No, you're an insufferable nuisance," Hatter replied calmly, tapping his cane against his saucer. The large silver teapot in the middle of the table promptly rose up on eight spindly legs, tottering across the table to refill his teacup. "With a voice that could grate cheese."

The tail flopped back down. "Oh. That's all right then," Dormy said, letting his head drop onto his plate.

"Er – so what does the Cheshire Cat eat?"

Alice glanced to her left. "Beg pardon?"

Victor fiddled with the deep green goggles smushing down his bangs – a gift from Wonderland upon entering the Hatter's Domain. Alice thought he looked quite sharp in them, especially paired with his new black suit and butterfly-shaped bow tie. "Well – you know what cats in our world eat," he continued, eyes flicking between March and Dormy. "But. . .he wouldn't go after anyone who talked – would he?"

"Ach, only with his tongue, and I'd rather have his teeth," March complained, banging his fist on his spoon and flipping it up onto the air. "His riddles are more impenetrable than ravens and writing desks!"

"I wouldn't say that," Alice said, watching as the spoon landed neatly on Dormy's head. "His usually have answers."

"Sometimes the best answer is no answer," Hatter said, in a tone Alice guessed was intended to make him sound sage. He stood up, pointing down the table with his cane. "Here now, I want a clean cup! Everybody down one!"

Alice, Victor, and March obligingly got to their feet to shift seats. Dormy groaned and hugged his plate. "But I'm _tiiired_. . . ."

Alice went over and gave Dormy's key a few sharp twists. He yelped as it _ticked_ , then bounced upright, wheels spinning. "Oh! Oh! Yes! Clean cup clean cup move down move down," he babbled, motoring around the table.

March caught him as he zoomed past, chuckling. "Don't have to go that far, laddie! Just you take the Victor's seat, and I'll take yours. . . ."

Alice moved into Hatter's old chair as March got his friend settled. "Honestly, I'm not sure what Cheshire eats – if he even does these days," she confessed as Victor sat in her place. "But if I had to take a guess, I'd choose fish. Barrelbottom may be populated by the walking, talking type, but I saw plenty down in the Depths that were just doing fishy things." She wrinkled her nose. "And if he wants to snack on Snarks, he's more than welcome to them."

"What if he wants to snark on snacks?" Victor asked with a little grin.

"He's welcome to do that too."

"Fish look at you when you eat them, don't they?" Hatter said, leaning toward Victor.

"It depends on how you prepare them," Victor replied, waving to the cream and sugar. They scuttled over. "Thank you. . .Father's canned sardines have the eyes in, though. He says they're healthy."

"Ah, you see? Food that looks at you is healthy," Hatter declared, holding up a finger.

"William Van Dort might claim anything that would help his sales," Alice countered. "And ask Victor just how much fish does he eat these days."

"Just how much fish do you eat these days?" Hatter echoed, turning back to Victor.

"None, if I can help it," Victor replied, making a face. "Father _insisted_ we have fish for dinner just about every night, to prove just how good the Van Dort Fish product was. And since when we were eating on our own, we didn't have so many courses, it was often the main meat of the meal. Not to mention any leftovers were generally made into lunch the next day. . .it's gotten so I can barely stand the taste of most kinds of fish. The only sort I can still stomach is shellfish – we never had quite so much of that."

"The snail has a shell," Dormy said, buttering a scone before laying his head on it.

"And it's not a fish," March added. "So you should stomach it twice as well."

Victor frowned, then looked down at the snail dripping ooze onto his plate. "Well. . .Mother _did_ insist I have escargot at a party once," he said, picking it up. "And I remember thinking it was all right. Just not something I'd eat every day." He ran a finger through the dripping custard and sampled it. "Strawberry. Hmm." He and the snail stared at each other for a moment. . . .

And then, to Alice's shock, Victor closed his eyes, leaned forward, and bit off the snail's head. He chewed a few times, making various faces, then swallowed. "It's rubbery," he reported, looking around the table. "And slimy on the bottom. But it tastes like candied orange. Perhaps if you cooked them instead of serving them raw?"

"We'll take it under consideration! And over it and around it as well!" Hatter's hat burst open with a _fuweeee!_ , shooting confetti all over the table. "See, he likes it! We're not that mad after all, are we Alice?"

Alice eyed him, then March and Dormy, who were currently playing keep-away with a sugar cube. Sometimes the best answer was no answer indeed. "I'm not fond of slimy or rubbery foods either, so I shall continue to keep my distance from snails at the tea table," she said instead, before fetching her spoon and scooping the cherry off her mollusk. "Though I'll try the custard. And. . .hmm. Is the _shell_ edible?"

* * *

"Wheeeeee!"

"You are having _far_ too much fun on this ride!"

Victor grinned at her, the wind whistling around him and mussing his hair as they sped along the twisty track. "Oh come on, you're not enjoying yourself at all?" he asked, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "This has to be what it's like to ride the Gravity Road in Pennsylvania!"

"I never said I wasn't enjoying myself," Alice protested, giggling. _He has no business being so_ cute _when he's overexcited!_ "I'm just afraid you're going to split your face in two with that smile."

"I can't help it!" Victor waved to a Torch Gnome as they rocketed past his catwalk – he returned it before going back to tugging his pickax free of a stubborn crack in the rock. "This is such a wonderful thrill!"

_Whoosh!_ Abruptly the cart was airborne, sailing over a gap in the tracks. Alice grabbed the side to steady herself as they came back down with a hard _bump!_ "You should try riding on a grit cart sometime," she commented, recalling her first madcap journey through Yur Mine. "With stones digging into your nethers and nothing between you and almost certain disaster but air. _There's_ a thrill."

Right on cue, they whipped around a tight turn, the corner of the cart _screeching_ against the cave wall and sending up sparks. Victor leaned away, gripping the front of the cart a little tighter. "I, uh, I think this is j-just enough thrill for me, thank you."

"Good, because I wasn't keen on trying it again." They slowed briefly as they came to a hill, only to regain their madcap speed as they lurched over the top. Squinting ahead, Alice saw the cave open up, and the edge of a familiar wooden floor come into view. "Aha – here's our stop," she reported. She shot Victor a cheeky grin. "Last chance to wave your hands in the air!"

Victor eyed the low ceiling. "And have the tips of my fingers nearly skimmed off again? No thanks."

"Hatter could always build you replacements. He isn't good for much, but mechanical limbs are a specialty."

"I don't think I need fingers that shoot drug-filled syringes," Victor said, examining them.

"I suppose not. Your hands are feared enough in the East End without them."

The cart hopped over one last break in the track, then shot out into what passed for open air in the underground village. Victor and Alice braced themselves as their vehicle slammed into a large springy rail, then slid backwards until it finally came to a stop by the unloading ramp. "Oof – jolts like that are _not_ good for the spine," Alice declared, rubbing her back. Then she peered forward at the almost-vertical cliff that lay beyond the rail. "Though it beats having to fling yourself off before going over the edge."

"I don't think that would have ended well for me," Victor agreed. He climbed over the side of the cart, then offered Alice a hand. "So where are we now?"

"Well, it used to be a minor Card Guard compound – but as they're all now rotting in the earth of Queensland, the locals have turned it into a pub," Alice said, pointing out the sign – a rough representation of the Queen's stylized heart, cracked neatly down the middle. "Just like any we might find in Whitechapel, really. Fancy a drink?"

"If they serve anything non-alcoholic," Victor said, biting his lip. "I'm – not good company when I'm drunk."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "I have a hard time picturing you drunk. When did that happen?"

"Mayhew convinced me to share some ale with him and the other male servants when I was about sixteen," Victor told her. "I don't actually remember much of the night beyond the first glass, but I have it on good authority that I. Do. Not. Shut. Up."

Alice bit back the urge to laugh. "As if rambling on isn't a feature common to almost all of my Wonderland friends," she reminded him. "Caterpillar in particular practically makes it an art form."

"Yes, well. . .I just don't want to – embarrass myself with what I might say," Victor said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or upset anyone. I have a hard enough time controlling what comes out of my mouth when I'm sob–"

_SPLORCH! **"** **Eeee** **eee** **!** **"** _ "Aaaaaaa!"

Victor hopped away from the remains of the Slithering Ruin, attempting to shake black glop off his leg. "Where did _that_ one come from?!" he demanded, screwing up his face. "I didn't even see it! Oh goodness, that's disgusting. . . ."

"But informative," Alice murmured, watching the droplets of Ruin soak into the wood. "I didn't know they just burst if you stepped on them. That'll make life a bit easier." She patted his arm. "At least this version of your suit is already filthy."

"Tiny mercy," Victor grumbled, glancing down at the earth-toned jacket and trousers smudged with coal dust. He attempted to scrape his shoe off on the side of the ramp, then gave it up as futile. "Hopefully they have a towel inside. . . ."

"Here." Alice knelt down, using her own dirt-stained apron to wipe away the last of the goop. "It's not like I mind – and Wonderland will surely change our clothes again once we're in the next place." She took his hand and pulled him along to the front door of The Broken Heart. "Come along – I think you could use a quick sit-down and a snack."

"Me too." Victor scowled as the last of the Slithering Ruin seeped under the floorboards. "Maybe I'll try a bit of beer after all."

* * *

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Victor nodded, jaw slack with awe as his eyes traveled along the ribbons of pink and green winding through the velvet black of the sky. "Gorgeous," he breathed, shaking his head. "Utterly gorgeous. I-I've _read_ about the aurora borealis, but I didn't think I'd ever see it for myself."

" _That's_ what it's called!" Alice said, snapping her fingers. "I couldn't remember the last time I came here. Could only think of 'Northern lights.'"

"Well, whatever you call them, they're wonderful." Victor managed to tear his gaze away from the colors for a moment to take in the majestic spikes of the icebergs jutting up from the dark sea, practically glowing white and blue in the moonlight. "It's all wonderful."

Alice allowed herself a moment to preen. "Would you expect any less from a place called 'Wonderland?'"

Victor shrugged. "To be honest, the way you often described it back when Bumby was alive? I thought more than once it should be called 'Horrorland' instead."

Alice thought about the collapse of the Vale, Ruin fountaining from the crumbling landscape, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth and stormy skies – the merest taste of the pain and terror to come. "Mmm – point," she admitted, making a face. "Fortunately his death seems to have restored much of the wonder." She watched the moon puff away on his cigarette, more bands of glowing color trailing off the rosy tip. "It was here that I first realized just how much I wanted us to be able to do this," she added softly.

Victor glanced down at her. "Really?"

She nodded. "I mean, obviously I'd thought about you before, thanks to your memories. And I'd had the occasional abstract musing about how much you might like roaming through the Vale of Tears, or sipping tea in Hatter's Domain. But it wasn't until I came here that it hit me how much I truly wished you could just leap into my head and visit. That I could give you a proper tour, show you everything in person instead of just describing it to you after the fact. It took me by surprise, since I hadn't felt that way about anyone since Lizzie had died. And I didn't see you as a brother. . .and then I stopped myself before I could come to the _other_ obvious conclusion about why I might feel that way," she continued, huffing in annoyance at her past self. "I am frankly amazed at how many times I came right up to the edge of realizing that I loved you, and then backed away. It really shouldn't have taken me until Queensland to accept my feelings for you." She hugged herself. "But as Caterpillar said, I can be very good at denying reality when I want to be."

Victor chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Well, it's not like I helped much, keeping my feelings to myself. I was just – so nervous about how you'd take it if I confessed. . . ." A strange expression passed across his face, then he shook his head. "And I didn't want to make things worse for you in Wonderland either. I was frightened that one more thing to deal with might – might s-send you back to the asylum."

"I don't think a confession of love would have done that – but sadly, I can't be sure," Alice sighed. "I do know I was in no position to start a relationship while in the middle of my campaign against the Dollmaker. So I guess it all worked out in the end." She leaned her head against his shoulder with a smile. "Including getting to show you this."

"True," Victor agreed, smiling back at the sky. "And it's everything you promised."

For a minute, they were silent, simply enjoying the view and each other's company. Then Victor spoke again. "Alice?"

"Mmmm?"

". . .it's also bloody cold."

Alice snorted. "It is. Don't worry, though." She waved to a familiar green figure, sailing toward them on his ship. "It's much warmer under the waves."

* * *

"Yooooouuuu are intruUUUuuding on my praaaactice tiiIIIMeeee!"

"Really? You _practice_?" Alice replied blandly, scooping up a handful of sand. She drizzled it carefully over the battlements of the castle taking shape before her. "You could have fooled me."

"We're not doing anything that should interrupt you," Victor added, packing together another cylindrical turret on the castle's back side. "You could go ahead and sing if you like."

The Bottle Fish huffed – or, more accurately, tooted. "I neeeeeed at leeeAAAAst an hooooouuur of priiiivaaacy to contemplaaaaate my beauUUUUtiful voice!"

"Go ahead and contemplate it – we won't stop you," Alice said, tilting her head back to look at the diva better. "And then go off and find it, because I think it's run away."

The Bottle Fish's eye stalks bobbed indignantly. "Youuuuuu're just jeaaaaaaalous!"

Alice smirked. "Not in the slightest. Even _I_ can get a tune out of a bottle."

_FOOOOOHHTT!_ The Bottle Fish swung around, its tiny tail lashing the water. "Caaaaarpenteeer will heaaaAAAR about thiiiiis!" it promised as it vanished over the rocks.

"Yes, well, let's see what he's more afraid of – your voice or my knife!" Alice shouted after it. She paused and considered that. "Actually, no, that could go either way. Especially if it breaks out the high notes."

"I don't think I'll need to clean my ears for a month," Victor agreed, wincing as he rubbed the left one. "Why on earth do you have a creature that reminds me of my mother in your head?"

An image of the Bottle Fish in Nell's favorite befeathered hat and mink stole, tooting at her about how she wasn't good enough for her son even if her father had educated the children of lords, popped into Alice's mind. "Perhaps I was subconsciously inspired," she said, shaking it out before thought became reality. "Although Mama's stories about how opera singers are such irritable divas must have played a part too." She picked up a bit of stick and used it to carve a door into the front of the castle. "The Oyster Starlets can be even _worse_ , if you can believe me."

"Since you're the one who created them, I suppose I can." Victor carefully shaped a conical roof for his turret, then used his finger to poke in a few windows. "How likely are we to run into them?"

"Well, the seaweed gardens where they live are just beyond that door," Alice said, pointing at the wood panel blocking the mouth of a giant stone head. "But they're likely to be asleep when we pass through. I have it on good authority that when they're not performing, they're napping." She reached across their edifice to pat him on the shoulder. "You needn't fear having your eardrums burst, I promise."

"Heh – thank you." Victor flicked his wrist, and the Vorpal Fork appeared in his hand. He promptly began carving a brick pattern into the castle's side with the tines. "It is beautiful here, though," he added, glancing up to admire the wide anemones waving their tentacles above their heads, and the various outcroppings of pink and green stone jutting up from the soft white sand.

"I thought you'd appreciate somewhere a bit more tropical after Tundraful," Alice said, smiling. "In my opinion, it's the prettiest part of the Deluded Depths."

"It's certainly the most colorful." Victor twirled his Vorpal Fork through his fingers, looking around them with a thoughtful pout. "Um – Alice?"

"Yes?"

"If we're underwater right now – why are we _walking_ everywhere?"

"It's easier, to put it simply," Alice told him, lining the base of the castle with bits of shell. "I tried swimming back during my Rutledge jaunt – I didn't care for it much. Every time I ducked my head underwater, I was swarmed by Snarks nipping at my heels – and my fingers, and my face. . . Even the honorary reptile shell Turtle gifted me wasn't much protection. Add in the fact that I was extremely out of practice after ten years of lying on a cot, and nearly drowned at least a dozen times searching for air, and. . . ." She shook her head, the currents whipping her hair into odd shapes around her face. "I decided almost the moment I arrived I was going to just walk about on the bottom and damn the consequences."

"Ah – that makes sense, I suppose," Victor nodded, going back to his bricks. "Particularly with you already fighting for your life against all sorts of monsters."

Alice eyed him. Was it her, or did he seem the tiniest bit disappointed? "That doesn't mean we _can't_ swim, though. If you want to. Did you?"

"I – I was more just expecting it," Victor admitted. He turned his gaze on himself. "What with the bathing costume and all."

Alice smirked. "Yes, the bathing costume with a waistcoat. And a tie made out of seaweed."

" _You're_ the one who keeps dressing me in these outfits," Victor retorted, grinning. He held his hand over his leg, watching the bright white stripes running across the blue-green one-piece glow in the faint shade. "Not that I'm not enjoying each one. I haven't worn a bathing costume in quite some time."

"I can believe it – the only water I saw in Burtonsville was that river, and that didn't look deep enough for more than a paddle." Alice quirked an eyebrow. "Which begs the question – where on earth does your father _get_ his famous canned fish from?"

"Most of it comes from docks in London," Victor told her, finishing his pattern. "We have a few canneries spread out over the country now – Father pays handsomely for priority train cars, fast carriages, and _lots_ of ice." He stuck his Fork in the sand and stood up. "The river plays host to trout in the warmer months. And there's a lake about a day's ride from the village which has a nice stock of carp. We took a few day trips out there when I was growing up – that's where I learned to swim, in fact." He fiddled with his tie. "I – I don't have a _lot_ of practice, but I could go across the lake and back and not drown."

"Which is the most important thing," Alice said with a nod. "You're welcome to give it a try if you like. Just don't kick over our castle."

"I have no intentions to," Victor assured her, walking over to the trio of pink stones nearby. He jumped, then jumped again, catching the lip of the highest as he began to sink. One grunt of straining arms later, and he was on top. He straightened his waistcoat, smoothed his hair out of his face, and flexed his shoulders and knees. Then he dived off the edge, kicking his feet wildly.

Immediately he became tangled in the currents swirling around them, tumbling end over end as he attempted to coordinate arms and legs. After about a minute, he stopped, panting, and just let himself float. "Oh dear. . .I thought once you learned, you never forgot."

"I think the people who say such things have a lot more time to practice." Alice dug around in the sand, picking up shiny stones and laying a short path to the front door. "But you're off the bottom, so that's some sort of progress. Give it another go."

"Right. . . ." Victor sucked in a deep breath, then turned and started kicking again, face wrinkled like a walnut in concentration.

It took another half-minute of floundering, but this time, Victor managed to find his rhythm. Alice watched as he sailed above her head, grinning as he played with the tendrils of the anemones and chased the bubbles spilling from the shell speakers as the Bottle Fish's band practiced their notes. She had to admit – shorn of creatures that wanted to kill her, swimming _did_ look like fun. And she didn't like just sitting on the sidelines while Victor enjoyed himself. . . She carefully threaded a scrap of seaweed onto a thin stick, and stuck it into the tallest turret of their castle to form a flag. Then she climbed atop the nearby ledge, brushed the sand from her dress, put her hands together in a neat point, and leapt off the edge.

Her skirt flared out like a jellyfish's bell, cushioning her as always as gravity began dragging her back to the sand. Alice windmilled her arms and legs, fighting the pull. _What did Papa always say when we were practicing in the Isis? You have to – to kick with one leg while scooping forward with the opposite arm. . .or do you kick both legs together, like a mermaid? And do you go over your head with the arm, or out from the chest? Damn it, I know there's a trick to this. . . ._

A hand grabbed hers, and she was pulled upward into Victor's arms, spinning slowly as he tread water. "Mind if I have this dance?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"So long as you don't mind being the more graceful one for a change," Alice said, clinging to him. "I didn't think it would be so hard! I managed in the old Vale! Barely. . . ."

"You're doing fine," Victor assured her as they revolved. "You just have to get used to it again."

"I guess." Alice looked down at her dress, which was still trying to spread out wide. "Maybe if I shortened the skirt on this, it would help."

Victor glanced down himself, then flushed. "I – ah – I r-really shouldn't comment," he murmured, turning his head.

Alice giggled. "Oh? And why not, Master Van Dort?" she asked, wrapping one of her legs around his. "Still frightened of my bare feet after all this time?"

Victor went stiff in her embrace, the color rushing from his face. "Uuuh. . . ."

Alice's mirth faded. "Victor?" She withdrew her leg, and felt him relax a tad. Oh dear, had she touched him wrong? She knew very well that you still couldn't come up suddenly on him from behind, or even brush against his arse. . .but he'd never mentioned anything about his legs that might send him reeling into darkness. Perhaps it was just the surprise of so much of her bare skin touching so much of his? Or maybe – his nightmares almost always involved the violation of his body parts–

_**"Scrreee!"** _

Her train of thought derailed – as did Victor's, judging by his expression going from vague terror to very clear annoyance. "Is that _another_ one?" he demanded.

"Yup," Alice muttered, looking down. The Slithering Ruin crept along the sand beneath them, making pathetic little leaps at their feet. "And I'm certainly not stomping on it like _this_." She pulled away from Victor, treading water as she summoned the Vorpal Blade. "Right – let's try something else I haven't done since my asylum days." She gripped the handle firmly, lined up her shot, flicked her wrist back, and –

_Whup-whup-whup-schlick!_ The Ruin exploded into tiny chunks of black, drifting away in the current as the Vorpal Blade buried itself in the sand. Victor applauded. "Marvelous, my lady."

"I thought so," Alice agreed with a proud grin. She dragged herself through the water toward him, kicking until their faces were even (now _there_ was a nice thing about swimming). "Hopefully that was our last interruption," she added, caressing his cheek.

Victor went pink again – but this time, it was accompanied by a smile. "Fingers crossed," he agreed, leaning in. Alice matched him, her hair streaming around them into a convenient privacy curtain. Their lips grew closer, closer, closer –

"Alice! Are you harangulating my talent?"

Alice groaned, letting her forehead knock against the equally-frustrated Victor's. "Always something. . . ."

* * *

"Knight One! Forward, to C3!"

White Knight One (Alice thought he was the one who'd rescued her as a child, but it was rather hard to tell in his current state) saluted his king with a whinny before hopping his way over to the correct square. The Red Queen watched him settle in, then surveyed her own troops with a critical eye. "Hmmm. . . ." She pursed her lips, then nodded and nudged her dozing husband. "Our turn, my dear. Remember, we must keep moving to stay in our place!"

"What? Oh. . . ." The Red King rubbed his eyes and frowned blearily at the board. "Pawn B, to B5," he yawned.

Red Pawn B hesitated a moment, eyeing White Knight One. The Knight whickered and made a show of polishing his sword. "Well, get on with it!" the Red Queen insisted. "Time here is worth a thousand pounds a second!"

Red Pawn B reluctantly hopped to the indicated square. "Aha – Pawn E to E4," the White King announced. He patted his wife on the back as the pawn bounced ahead. "That'll free the space for you, my dear."

The White Queen smiled – then, out of nowhere, began flapping her arms and spinning in place, shrieking like a train whistle all the while. "MY SHAWL! MY SHAWL!"

Alice nearly jumped straight out of her skin, head automatically jerking toward the sky to check for flying steam engines dripping goo. Victor, meanwhile, started so badly he knocked himself out of his seat, sliding down the hill toward the board. "Aaah!" He clamped onto a few tufts of grass, digging his heels into the dirt to arrest his fall. "A-Alice? Little help?"

Alice grabbed his arm, hauling him back up the slope. "Thank you. . .ow," he added, rubbing his ear as he resettled himself. "I thought the Bottle Fish was shrill – it's like a drill going straight through my head!"

"And we're all the way up here," Alice nodded, covering her ears in a vain attempt to protect them. "Imagine how bad it is down on the playing field."

"I can guess." Victor shot a sympathetic glance at the wincing pieces around the White Queen. Even the normally unflappable Red Queen was making a face. "Why is she making such a fuss? I don't see anything wrong with her shawl."

The first breath of a breeze stirred Alice's hair. "Give it a minute," she said, watching the White Queen carefully as the Red King ordered Red Pawn E forward a square over the noise. "I think I know exactly what's about to happen."

Sure enough, as the White King dithered over his next move, the wind picked up, snatching the White Queen's ever-loose shawl and sending it fluttering across the board. The White Queen promptly stopped shrieking and straightened her collars. "You see?" she said, quite calmly, before chasing after it.

"My dear, wait!" the White King cried, waving his scepter. "Other side of the board! Other side!"

The White Queen ignored him, eyes intent on her shawl. Red Bishop The Second raised his staff and snagged the wayward bit of cloth. "Oh, thank you!" she cried, skidding to a stop beside him and accepting the garment. "Very kind. . .it's all right my darlings!" she added to her fidgeting Pawns and twitching husband. "It's just tea and crumpets this time, not the guillotine!"

"Lucky for you – that's an awful position you're in," Alice muttered. "Good thing Bishops must move diagonally."

"Yes. . .although I'm surprised to see them following the proper rules at all," Victor admitted, as Red Knight One was commanded to F6. "Whenever you described fighting the Reds before, you never mentioned the Knights moving only in Ls, or the Rooks in straight lines. Just how hard they hit."

"Well, to be fair, that all occurred when they were under the command of the Queen of Hearts," Alice pointed out. "Who, being a _card_ monarch, knew very little about chess." She frowned thoughtfully at the board. "But you're right – they're not normally this formal about their battles."

"It's only a _mock_ -fight, not a real one," a Daisy piped up from the flower bed behind them. "If you weren't so dim, you'd know that."

"Quiet, you! No manners at all, daisies," the Tiger Lily complained, bobbing its head above them. "Personally, I think it's because the thorny ones have soured on being pruned."

"Oh yes," a Rose agreed. "I would be too, if I'd been cut off at the prime of my blossom."

"Good point," Alice said. "If I'd spent as much time dead as these four monarchs, I'd want to keep my skirmishes on the quieter side too. Especially if we were performing for company."

The White King tugged his beard, eyeing each piece in turn. "White Bishop The First!" he cried at last. "Seize Red Pawn A!"

White Bishop The First nodded and slid over to the unfortunate pawn, leaving a long streak of mud in the grass. Red Pawn A trembled as the Bishop lifted his crook – then, yielding to old instincts, drove its cycloptean skull right into the Bishop's stomach, knocking him over. Victor raised an eyebrow. "You were saying, Alice?"

"I was referring to the royalty, not the common chess piece," Alice said, watching as the White Bishop levered himself up with his staff, before sending a jet of red light at Red Pawn A. Red Knight One leapt in front of him, deflecting the beam with his sword. " _They_ seem to love a good dust-up. There's enough of them fossilized mid-fight on the Queensland grounds, after all."

"What – hey! Order! Order!" the White King demanded, as White Rook Beta came to the defense of his Bishop, ramming into the Red Knight and sending both him and the pawn sprawling. Red Bishop The Second retaliated with his staff, scorching the Rook's pedestal, as the other Red Pawns bounced to their compatriot's aid. "Order, I say!"

But it was too late – rules and regulations flew out the window as, slowly but surely, more pieces moved out of turn and more weapons were brandished. Another gust of wind sent the White Queen's shawl flying again – she raced after it, just avoiding Red Rook Alpha's charge. He instead slammed into Red Bishop The Second, knocking him clear across the board into White territory. White Knight One burst into laughter, swinging his sword carelessly – the flat of it caught White Bishop The Second in the face. Fuming, he drove his staff under the Knight's pedestal, levering him face-first into the dirt. Within moments, the formal game was nothing more than an old-fashioned brawl, the Whites and the Reds fighting each other as much as the other side. The White King buried his face in his hands. "Oh my – hopeless, I tell you, hopeless. You might as well try to harness a Bandersnatch!"

The Red Queen huffed, tapping her pedestal. "We have _got_ to restore discipline. This land is worth a thousand pounds a yard, after all!"

Alice stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "Well – I think this particular game's ended in a draw. Shall we leave them to it and go explore the Looking-Glass House gardens some more?"

"I'd like that," Victor said, getting to his feet. "I want to see those elephantine bees you mentioned so briefly when I asked about your original adventures."

"Me too – I never _did_ get the chance to visit them properly before all the troubles started," Alice remarked with a frown. "Perhaps we'll see the Gnat too, if he's still around. He's probably built up whole volumes of terrible jokes to suggest we make and then sigh over."

"I'd rather go searching out bread-and-butterflies, if it's all the same to him."

"Thank you so much for being on time to the feast!" the White Queen shouted, waving her retrieved shawl above the rabble.

"We hurried as quickly as we could!" Alice called back. "Ah, yes, I almost forgot about your welcoming dinner later. It's sure to be interesting – if you even get a bite."

"I can politely refuse to be introduced to any of the food, can't I?" Victor asked as they waved goodbye to the flowers, then went hand-in-hand down the other side of the hill. "I'm their guest, after all."

"Well, I earned a Queen's crown from them, and it didn't stop them from giving my name to every dish," Alice replied. She scrunched up her nose. "On the other hand. . .it might be safer to converse with some of the food rather than eat it. Particularly the pudding."

"What? Why?"

"Well, they're almost surely using the White Knight's recipe. And given his ingredients include blotting paper and _gunpowder_. . . ."

Victor stared at her a moment, then shook his head, lip curled. "Ah. Yes, I think it would be in our best interest to eat somewhere else."

* * *

"Ah, you possess a strong mind indeed! Three in a row, without a single reset!"

Victor ducked his head, smiling shyly at the praise. "They're n-not really that hard," he murmured as the last block settled into place.

"They've confounded us many a time," one Monk Ant said, crossing his legs as he settled himself more comfortably on his pillow. "How is it that you can see so easily where the lines must link up?"

"Maybe it's the artist in me," Victor mused, tracing the image of the dragon he'd just formed with a finger. "I'm used to following the lines in my head to see where they should go on the page."

"It is a gift," the Elder Ant declared, peering down from his rocky perch. "One you should treasure."

"Mmm," Alice agreed, through a sip of her tea. Above her head, the wind played little tunes on the green-inked stalks of bamboo, and rattled the chimes the Monks had put up to celebrate the departure of the Wasps. "You should see him with a quill in his hand. He's capable of miracles."

Victor blushed. "Alice. . . ."

"I've no doubt that when his mind wills one thing, it shall be done," the Elder Ant said, causing Victor's whole head to go dark pink. "He has the makings of true greatness."

"I agree," Alice said, smiling cheekily at her boyfriend. "Bet you're wishing he'd shown up as the savior instead of me now."

"Not at all," the Elder Ant assured her. "You proved your worth, and performed your duties admirably. Caterpillar, the Great and Powerful, has said so himself."

A warmth that had nothing to do with her drink filled her stomach. "Did he now? That's kind of him," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "He's not one to pass out praise easily – or where I can hear it."

The Elder Ant chuckled. "We will happily dole it out on his behalf. After all, he has also warned us your tongue is sharper than your blade, and that we would do well not to get on the other end of it."

"A fact he would know intimately," Alice smirked. She watched the steam drift up from her little paper cup, all fancy curlicues and loops like wispy white calligraphy. "But I'm content to trade compliments instead. This tea is as good as any Hatter makes – though don't tell him. Oolong, right?"

"Yes, miss," the serving Geisha nodded, scurrying around refilling any empty cups.

"It's very nice," Victor said, returning to his place in the semicircle. He picked up his drink and peered into the golden liquid. "Though I wonder why it's called that?"

"Because it comes from oo, a long way away," a Monk Ant replied, waving over the Geisha to get a top-up.

Victor giggled. "Makes sense." He took a deep sniff. "We mostly had Earl Grey and English breakfast tea growing up – Mother somehow learned that was what Lady Everglot drunk, so of course we had to have the same. And in Houndsditch the most exotic blend I've tried is Darjeeling. I should broaden my horizons a bit more."

"Plenty of horizons here," Alice said, pointing through the gate to the green-tinted sky beyond, with its rain of Chinese characters still pouring down into the sea. "Especially now that the smoke's cleared." She glanced back along the rocky plateau. "Speaking of which, I see the village has been completely rebuilt."

"Yes – it took us many days of careful folding," another Monk Ant said with a proud nod. "But the first thing Caterpillar, the Wise and Mysterious, teaches us is patience. It would not do to erect a hut, only to have it fall over in the smallest breeze."

"No, it wouldn't," Victor agreed. "I was very impressed. It's truly incredible the things you can do with paper."

The half-circle of Monks beamed. "Careful, Victor – you'll give them swelled heads," Alice joked. "But yes, it's a job well-done. I'm very happy to see life going back to normal for you all." She paused. "Well, as normal as life gets for creatures made of origami living on a rock in the middle of a tiny pond."

"'Normal' is as relative as size," the Elder Ant declared, stroking his beard. "Our world is as vast as the famed kingdoms beyond – and better run, too."

Alice thought about the Queen of Heart's infamous croquet games, and the brawl that had marked their visit to Looking-Glass Land. "You'll hear no argument from me."

"Nor me," Victor nodded. "I suppose I have no _direct_ complaints with how Her Majesty runs our empire, but – it would be nice if at least Whitechapel was as peaceful as this place." He looked around at the collection of ants, each creased and tucked just so. "Then again, maybe it's easier when you and everyone you love is as fragile as paper."

"Paper is strong, when you know what to do with it," a Monk Ant argued, sitting up a little straighter. "And can cut like a knife."

"Oh, I know _that_. I can't even count how many times I've sliced myself on the pages of school texts and sketchbooks." Victor flexed his abused fingers in remembrance of stings past. "Though speaking of which, I wish I could have brought my ink and quill. I'd love to draw you all."

The Monks pretended to protest as they allowed themselves a moment of very un-monk-like preening. "I wouldn't mind doing a portrait or two myself, if I had my pencil handy," Alice agreed, chuckling. "I imagine yours would end up more scientific in nature, though. Annotations about fold count and little close-ups of legs and heads running into the margins. Just like with your butterflies."

"I can't help it," Victor said, sipping his tea. "It's the entomologist in me."

An abrupt hush fell over the company, every Ant freezing in place. "Did – did you say _entomologist_?" the Elder Ant asked, pulling his beard.

Victor blinked. "Er – yes?" He fiddled with the hem of his charcoal kimono, tracing the wing of an embroidered butterfly with his thumb. "Why? Something wrong?"

"He – he doesn't have _pins_ , does he?" a Monk squeaked at Alice, twisting his hands together as all four feet tapped out an anxious tattoo.

"We're rather over being stabbed and left to writhe in the dirt!" the Geisha agreed, hugging her teapot against her chest and crinkling it.

"Wha – _oh!_ Oh, no!" Victor cried, waving a hand. "I d-don't do _that_! Just s-sketches! Everything I l-learn is from live study! I _hate_ bug boxes!"

"He does," Alice nodded, looking around the group. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him kill an insect at all. The ones that crawl into Houndsditch get scooped up in jars, have a sketch or two drawn of them, and then are let loose out the window or the front door."

"I cried when Father told me what k-keeping a butterfly forever entailed," Victor stressed, setting down his cup to clasp his hands in supplication. "I needed a full h-hour to calm down. And I would never dream of – I mean n-none of you any harm. Please."

The Ants slowly relaxed, glancing at each other. "I suppose Alice, however imprudent, wouldn't bring danger right to our doorstep," the squeaky Monk allowed, twirling his beads around his neck. "But I don't like the idea of being in a jar either. Too much like a cage." He shivered. "Or a comb."

"I wouldn't put _you_ in one, I promise. You I can ask to stand still for a while." Victor sighed deeply, letting his head flop forward. "I'm sorry. I should have thought before I spoke. I didn't mean to be insulting or frightening."

Alice patted his shoulder. "We all make mistakes. It's what you learn from them that counts."

"A cherry tree does not always put out its branches in the most ideal shape," the Elder agreed. "That is why we are given pruning shears."

"I think I need a pair of those. I've love to just – _cut out_ the part of me that says idiotic things," Victor said, jabbing himself in the chest with two fingers. His eyebrows lowered. "Better yet, the part of me that has such stupid, terrible thoughts in the first place."

"Don't be like that – none of us are perfect," Alice replied, pulling his makeshift "scissors" away from himself. "Do you think _I_ don't still have bad thoughts on occasion? Times where I've said something and instantly regretted it?"

"Well – no," Victor admitted, shoulders slumping. "But it seems to happen so _often_ with me!"

"It doesn't, really," Alice said. A slithering bit of shadow inching out of the bamboo caught her eye, and she reached behind her toward Yves. "Dr. Wilson told me something once, during one of our chats before I left the asylum – the brain remembers bad things more readily than good. Pain holds more sway over us than joy. That's why the fire wouldn't leave me, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. My mind was only too willing to obsess over something that tore me up inside."

"Really? That's–" Victor wrinkled his nose. "Stupid."

"Oh, you'll hear no arguments from me – that little quirk of the mind is what left Wonderland so vulnerable to the ravages of both the Queen of Hearts and Bumby." Her fingers wrapped around the handle of the Blade. "But it's just something we've got to live with. Speaking of which, could you scootch back for a moment? We've got another visitor."

"What – oh," Victor said, turning and spotting the creepy crawlie. "Of course there would be another one. . .let me take care of it," he added, holding up a hand. "You got the last one. It'll make me feel better."

"All right then." Alice released the Blade back into the ether and stepped away. "The floor is yours."

Victor nodded, pulling the Vorpal Fork from the air. He waited a few seconds, letting the Ruin slither just a little closer – then spun and stabbed just as it prepared to jump. The Ruin, taken completely by surprise, exploded with a tiny _**"eee!"**_ of pain. "Hate these things," he grumbled.

"We all do," Alice said, as the Monks gave him a round of applause. She knelt down next to him. "But back to the topic at hand – we're all better than we think we are. I've known you for almost a year now, and yes, you've said some stupid things. But you almost always apologize right afterwards. You correct yourself. And I know you rarely ever have truly bad intentions. I'd rather be around you, with all your stuttering and stammering and occasionally obtuse comments, than another smooth-talker than Bumby. Because you I know I can trust."

And there was the blush again. "You have got to stop plying me with compliments," Victor mumbled, ducking his head in an attempt to hide his flaming cheeks.

"Why? You never stop plying me." Alice smiled, giving his hair a ruffle. "You've told me plenty of times before to stop being so hard on myself. I'm just returning the favor." She took his hands, tugging him back to his feet. "Here – enough talk about our failings for the moment. How about another puzzle? We can work together this time."

The Monks perked up. "Oh yes!"

"That would be wonderful!"

"Alice the Clever and Victor the Intelligent!"

Victor laughed. "All right – far be it for me to disappoint our audience. Do you have another design ready for us, Elder?"

"Many!" The Elder Ant waved his hand, and the dragon disappeared, replaced by a new set of blocks ringing the wooden frame embedded in the stone. "Let your mind ponder this for a while!"

"24 moves or less!" Alice declared, heading over to the nearest block and studying its design. "Hmm. . .well, this seems to be the claw of a lobster. And this. . .a fish tail?"

"I've got a head over here," Victor reported, pushing his block into the frame. He peered at the one next to him. "And I think this one's the lobster's body. Do you suppose it's the Quadrille?"

Alice gave her block a shove, toppling it into the hole. "Let's find out."

* * *

"Why aren't all ants as friendly as the ones in the Mysterious East?"

"Because my brain likes taking things literally, and armies are not known for being friendly," Alice said. A bayonet jabbed at her face – she deflected it with a _clang!_ "Not to mention they're followers of the Voracious Centipede." The Ant tried again to stab her – she denied him once more, forcing his blade away with her own. "Who responded to my efforts to broker a truce by attempting to chew on my head."

"I see – oh!"

Victor threw himself to the ground, just in time to avoid the _BANG!_ of a rifle shot. His opponent let out a disgruntled hiss, kicking dirt at him with two legs. Victor swiped it away, scrambling back to his feet. "You're making me regret that my very first Wonderland picture was of you lot!" he snapped, lunging and plunging his Vorpal Fork into the Ant's side.

The Ant snapped its pincers and retaliated with its bayonet. Victor skittered to the side, but the blade tore into his suit and scratched his stomach before he could escape. He winced, clamping a hand over the wound. "I _have_ to get something with range. . . ."

"Here!" Alice summoned the Hobby Horse and tossed it to him, swapping the Vorpal Blade for the Pepper Grinder as she did. "Hopefully it'll be as effective as a shoe!"

"I'll take whatever at this point!" Victor reeled backward as he caught the Horse, the weight nearly dragging him to the ground – then he corrected and swung the roaring unicorn straight into the Ant's mandibles. It stumbled away, screeching in pain. Victor pursued, crushing its backside with another blow. "That's what you get!"

Alice couldn't help a smirk as her Army Ant collapsed under a hail of red-hot peppercorns. "Finally found some insects you don't mind killing?"

"All bets are off when they try to put _me_ on a pin – so to speak," Victor muttered. He stood over his prey, Hobby Horse high above his head, then brought it down with all his might. In a last, desperate burst of energy, the Ant twisted itself out of the way – but then the Horse hit the dirt, and all the woods for at least five feet rocked in a man-made earthquake. Victor staggered wildly, losing his footing and bouncing off the ground. "Oh! Ow. . . ."

"Sorry – should have warned you about that," Alice said, waiting for the aftershock to fade before hurrying over to give her beloved a hand up. "It's not quite as bad as a shot from the Blunderbuss, but still. I got some nice bruises on my behind the first time I tried it."

"I can believe it," Victor said, grabbing her wrist and hauling himself upright. "I felt that right through my spine!" He rubbed his back, then looked over at the Ant, curled up on itself as the last of its life was shaken out of it. "At least it got him too."

"I once took out four Insidious Ruins with one blow using that," Alice told him with a grin. "Once you're used to it, it's actually quite handy for – _shit!_ "

Her arms locked around Victor on pure instinct – then the world burst into a flurry of frantically fluttering wings. A few moments later, they were Alice and Victor again, standing on the riverbank. Victor blinked rapidly, feeling himself all over. "What – what was–"

_BOOOOOM!_ The spot where they'd been standing exploded, sending mud and bits of leaves everywhere. "Grenade," Alice explained, popping open her Umbrella to shield them from the worst of the blast. "Which means we've got a General Ant around too." She looked up at the ridge – yup, sure enough, there it was, outfitted in its green coat and waving its sword around like Napoleon. "No gun, but – well, you saw how they make up for that. Bloody hell, I hope we haven't upset an entire platoon. . .go away!" she yelled, waving at the Ant. "We're just doing a bit of sight-seeing! A few minutes of looking at mushrooms, and we'll be out of your – carapaces?"

The General's response was to lob another explosive at her. "Only spiders have those," Victor corrected as they dashed down the river, out of range. "Ants have exoskeletons."

"Forgive me for not remembering the right word in a firefight!" Alice swung around to see the General galloping after them – she flung a few Cards at it to slow it down. "I'm not the one who's spent half my life studying these creatures!"

Victor opened his mouth to reply – then paused. His eyes lit up. "That's right!" he cried, far louder than he needed to even with the grenade blasts still ringing in their ears. "I'm the entomologist here!"

The General skidded to a stop, sword lowering a few inches. "Why, yes, that you are!" Alice agreed, catching on. "I can't count the number of insects you've put under glass!"

The General's pincers started to chatter, weapon falling even further. "I think that one would make an excellent addition to my collection," Victor said, waving at the felled soldier nearby. Then he turned to the General with a much-too-friendly grin. "How about you, sir? Would you look good on display?"

The General looked from him to its broken private and back. Then it whirled about, tangling itself up in its own legs in its haste to get away. Alice giggled as it made for the hills, screeching in terror. "That was brilliant."

"You did tell me to learn from my mistakes," Victor said with a smile and a shrug. "Hopefully this will give that Centipede second thoughts about sending anyone else after us."

"He's not the most intelligent of creatures – but as a large creepy-crawly who has already suffered a most dramatic belly wound, he'll probably give us a wide berth from now on," Alice nodded. "Though I can't promise we won't run into a few more stragglers who haven't heard the magic word."

"I think we've proven we can take them." Victor looked down, poking himself in the chest. "So – um – did you _know_ that your butterflies would work with me as well, or did you just take a chance?"

"Neither – I just did it without thinking," Alice said, brushing his hair out of his face. "Did it frighten you? I'm sorry."

"No, no – I'd rather be a bit frightened than blown up. It – it just felt so – so _peculiar_ _._ " Victor ran his hands over his legs, then his arms, then his face. "Like – I still knew myself, but my body. . .did Emily feel like that, when she passed on?"

"I doubt it, given she was peacefully moving toward Heaven rather than running for her life from an Ant with a military college degree," Alice said. "But I know what you mean. I found it very odd myself when I first tried it. Endlessly useful, though."

"Yes." Victor frowned, then shut his eyes, screwing up his face. "I wonder. . . ."

With no warning, his body burst apart, becoming a kaleidoscope of gray and white. The butterflies flew ahead a few feet, then melded back together, leaving behind the man she knew and loved. "Yes, still peculiar," he reported, opening his eyes.

"You should see it from the outside," Alice told him, blinking. "I've always wondered what my enemies saw. . .no surprise they're too startled to attack me again right away." She shrugged and walked over to him. "Still – given _you_ were the one who told me about Emily and her dramatic exit, it's only fair that you should share the spoils."

"I suppose," Victor agreed. "I just hope I don't have to use it in combat again for a bit."

"Same here." Alice grinned, feeling rather like the Cheshire Cat. "On the other hand – did I tell you I can do that when I jump as well?"

Victor's eyes widened. "Really?"

Alice nodded and grabbed his hand. "How about we seek out some bouncy mushrooms and I teach you a little more about flying?"

* * *

"Oh, _wow_."

Alice beamed. "I knew you'd love it here. Spectacular, isn't it?"

"Amazing," Victor whispered. He walked to the very edge of the Two of Clubs they were perched on, eyes intent on the cards swooping and twirling in intricate patterns against the bright blue sky. A Five of Spades promptly slotted into place, ready to catch him should he accidentally step off. "I never thought. . .no _wonder_ you completely ignored Alan when you first arrived."

"Yes, well, I'm just glad that didn't lead to me tumbling off a rooftop," Alice admitted, wincing at the memory. She watched another deck flutter past, hearts and diamonds and spades and clubs going every which way as they cut through the wisps of white cloud. "Though, looking at it now, it half seems worth it. Hard to believe this is so near Queensland, hmm?"

"Extremely." Victor lifted his face into the breeze, spreading his arms like gangly wings. "I – I didn't know the sky could get so _blue_. I've never seen its like, not even in the Land of the Dead. And the sun, the air. . . ." He gulped in a deep breath. "All of your Wonderland is gorgeous, but here. . .I've never felt so _free_."

"Neither have I." Alice crossed onto the Five – an Ace of Diamonds popped up to continue the path. "It helps that it's the only spot in Wonderland that's completely safe too." She peeked over the side at the mass of mossy green far below. "I suppose none of my enemies can follow me this high up."

"Fine by me," Victor said, dropping his arms. "That last scrap with the Army Ants was more than enough fighting for tonight." He stepped up to Alice with a mischievous grin. "Besides – now that we're finally free from distractions, I can give you something you're owed."

Alice grinned back at him, going up on tiptoe. "Oh? And what's that, Master Van Dort?"

Victor leaned in, his breath warm against her face – then tapped her shoulder and took off. "Tag!"

"What – _hey!_ " Alice laughed as she started her pursuit. "You had _how_ many chances to do that before now?"

"Well, we were always doing something else!" Victor called over his shoulder, feet pounding over a Three of Spades, a Knave of Diamonds, a Five of Clubs as they zipped in under his feet. "I didn't want to interrupt the tour!" He pointed at a nearby castle, hanging in the endless blue. "I'll race you to the front door! If it has one!"

"Race me?" Alice mock-complained. "Sir, you have two cards' head start _and_ longer legs!"

Victor shot her a cheeky look. "Never said I would let you win."

An Ace of Hearts, Ten of Clubs, and Four of Diamonds abruptly broke away from the path, twisting themselves into a tube. The breeze whistled through it, creating a jet of air as powerful as any blast of steam. Victor confidently leapt into it, twirling and riding the current to the Two of Hearts just beyond. "You'd better get a move on, slowpoke," he teased as he drifted down. "Otherwise you'll – aaah!"

The playful Two fluttered away from his feet, letting him freefall for just a second before sliding neatly back into place to catch him. Victor stumbled as his foot caught the pasteboard, falling to his hands and knees. "Don't _do_ that!" he cried, breathing heavily. "G-goodness, for a moment I was s-sure I was about to go _s-splat_!"

"I'm afraid a few of them are pranksters," Alice told him as she coasted her way across the air tube. "I've run afoul of a couple in previous visits." She landed lightly next to him, patting his back. "None of them would ever let you drop, though. I promise."

"They'd better not. . . ." Victor got to his feet, brushing off his suit before taking a few tentative steps toward the edge. An Ace of Clubs appeared on cue, rising and falling. "I don't want to end up putting a me-shaped dent in the Vale of Tears, just because a card decided it didn't like my face."

"Even if it did, you could always dodge your way back onto it," Alice reminded him. "Your butterflies can't be held back by gravity. And should the worst happen, no matter what you hit, you wouldn't die. Your body probably wouldn't _thank_ you, but you'd live."

"Good to know, I guess." Victor peered over the side, watching the clouds swirl below them. "To be fair. . .it _would_ be quite the trip. If you could do it safely. Maybe with some artificial wings? Or at least a parachute. . . ."

"I'll talk to Hatter about it," Alice said, hopping onto the Ace as it drew level with them. "He owes me a few free inventions after everything that's happened. And he'd probably find the idea intriguing, given how much of his own domain hangs in the sky." She turned around as the card began to rise again. "Oh, and Victor?"

"Yes?"

Alice tapped his arm. "Tag."

And then she was off, leaping to the Eight of Spades waiting for her above. "Oh no you don't!" Victor cried, grabbing the edge of the Ace and hauling himself up. "I'm going to catch you if it's the last thing I do!"

"It had better not be!" Alice called back, fleeing across the line of cards. "I'll be quite put out if your last act on Earth is to beat me at a race!"

"There are worse ways to go!" Victor climbed onto the Eight of Spades and got his feet, taking off after her. "Though I'd be pretty put out too, I admit."

"Then you agree to lose?"

"Didn't say that!"

Alice giggled and kept running, skidding slightly on a Ten of Clubs as she took a corner. The castle archway yawned open before her, promising victory. . .but Victor's determined footsteps were fast getting louder as his absurdly long legs ate into her lead. So close, so close – taking a chance, she burst into butterflies, trusting the swarm to secure her win.

However, a split-second later, it became apparent that Victor had had the exact same idea. They reached the finish line in a confusion of blue and gray wings, delicate bodies entangled in a strange dance. Then they reformed leaning on each other, laughing. "Well – that didn't go according to plan," Victor said, shaking his head.

Alice tapped his nose. "What does, with you?"

"Good point. And I suppose a draw still counts as catching you." He wrapped her in a hug. "And look, it wasn't the last thing I did."

"I'm glad," Alice said, snuggling into him. "I don't want you to go for a long, long time."

Victor squeezed her tight. "Neither do I."

Once they'd gotten their breath back, they proceeded into the castle hand in hand. Like most of the buildings in Cardbridge, it was essentially one large open room, with a few Shrinking Violets for color. A turret graced each corner, stretching toward the sky. "Not much to see," Victor said, a touch disappointed.

"They're card castles – they're not designed to really be livable," Alice pointed out. She spotted a doorway cut into the back left turret and pulled him toward it. "Though there seems to be something of interest in here. . . ."

Their investigation uncovered a ramp, curling around to the very top of the tower. They climbed it and found a little viewing platform, with two paper balloons waiting. "Huh – never thought of using one as a seat before," Alice said, spreading her skirts and plopping down on the right one. The paper crinkled under her weight, but held. "My instincts keep insisting I should split it open and see what goodies might lurk inside."

"Maybe after we've had a rest," Victor said, perching himself atop the other. He twisted his head around, taking in the other castles floating in the breeze, and the packs still soaring across the sky, forming all sorts of complicated patterns before breaking apart again. "Amazing," he repeated softly. "Alice, your imagination puts all others to shame."

"You are far too effusive with your praise," Alice protested, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"I am not. I could never come up with a place as wonderful as this."

Alice folded her arms. "Oh? How do you know?" she challenged. "We've talked about your childhood. You made up plenty of imaginary worlds for yourself. Magician's towers, dragon keeps, forgotten jungles. What's stopping you from trying again?"

"I – uh – huh." Victor's brow furrowed. "I – I never – really considered it. Once you're about twelve or so, people tell you to stop making up such nonsense – not that my parents ever really encouraged me," he added with a huff. He waved a hand to encompass the domain. "This has always been sort of – your thing."

"It doesn't have to be. I'd love to see what you came up with in a world of your own." Alice took his hand. "I mean – both of us can cast the spell. Wouldn't be fair if every trip was inside my mind."

Victor bit his lip. "True. . .l-let me see what I can do," he said, sandwiching her hand between his. "I don't have as much practice as you, and – I – I want it to look nice."

"Oh, I didn't say you had to start right this minute," Alice assured him, stroking his cheek. "I'm not entirely sure what would happen if you tried to make an Otherland, as Cheshire put it, while we were already in my Wonderland." She patted his face. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

He smiled. "Thank you. I'll do my best to make it as lovely as this. . .though Cardbridge is a very tough act to follow." He looked up again, the breeze ruffling his hair. "Out of curiosity – is it always day up here?"

"I believe so. Why?"

"I was just thinking. . .can you imagine what it might look like at sunset?" he asked, turning toward her with bright eyes. "With the light hitting the cards just right? Oh – or what about if it was like Tundraful at night? You could practically reach out and _touch_ the aurora!"

Alice chuckled. "And you're worried you won't be able to match my imagination." She nodded at the sun, which began slowly to sink downward. "We should still have a little time before morning – let's see if you're right. And if you are, you owe me a dance up here among the stars."

Victor smiled at her as the world went pink and gold. "I can do that," he agreed, before capturing her lips in a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The bed that Alice hits on the way down the rabbit hole is a tiny nod to _Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland_ \-- I liked the moment and wanted to adapt it.
> 
> \-->The snails served at the tea party reference the third _Alice: Madness Returns_ teaser trailer, where one was on Alice's plate. The "clean cup clean cup move down move down" bit is a reference to the original animated Disney _Alice_. Victor's outfit, specifically the goggles, is a shout-out to my other major Valice story, "Secundus" (which is steampunk-themed).
> 
> \-->The "Gravity Road in Pennsylvania" was a downhill chunk of minecart track used to deliver coal to Mauch Chunk, PA. By the 1870s, they'd expanded into giving rides to the curious -- basically, an early predecessor to the roller coaster. Victor and Alice's outfits in the Village of the Doomed section are supposed to echo the outfits of Victorian miners, if you hadn't already guessed. 
> 
> \-->Alice not recalling what the aurora borealis was called on her first trip is a joke on my favorite LPer, Helloween4545, needing to look up the terms in between sets when he first landed in Tundraful during his first LP of the game.
> 
> \-->Alice's opinion that Choral Coral is the prettiest place in the Depths is my own -- seriously, what a gorgeous little patch of sand! And Victor asking about why they're walking and Alice's answer of it being easier is a nod to the fact that Spicy Horse ended up scrapping the swimming mechanics in A:MR because they could never make them fun. (And yes, swimming in AMA WAS just as much of a ballache as Alice describes it. Too easy to get stuck on stuff!)
> 
> \-->Confused about the Looking Glass Land section? The area they're in is actually from the original Looking Glass _book_ \-- the first couple of chapters, in fact. Also, I made an attempt at using some real chess notation, but. . .well, there's a reason they start fighting so soon.
> 
> \-->Alice's talk about how the brain remembers bad things better than good in the Mysterious East is a factoid I saw on tumblr once. I don't know how scientifically accurate it, but it feels right. 24 moves is the maximum you get with any block puzzle in A:MR (not that you should need them -- Victor's right, they AREN'T that hard).
> 
> \-->"Four Insidious Ruins with one blow" is a reference to the "Neighslayer" achievement from A:MR, which involves taking out four enemies with a Hobby Horse ground pound.
> 
> \-->"Otherland" is a reference to the old "Alice: Otherlands" idea, where Alice would have access to essentially the Wonderlands of other people in London. Thought that would have been really cool. . .


	11. Not Fine At All

The Dollhouse

"And here we are!"

Alice stepped through the portal, blinking as her vision went swirling green and red before resolving into a familiar brightly-colored room. "Welcome to the Dollhouse, Victor," she said, glancing up and back as he came through on her heels. "Now with one hundred percent less bleeding paintings, and fifty percent less body parts stuck to the furniture."

"Fifty – oh," Victor said, spotting the sofa in the corner with its doll arms still attached.

"Yeeees, apparently my subconscious considers that more cute than creepy," Alice confessed, rocking on her heels as she contemplated the desk chair with its frilly socks and patent leather shoes. "At least they no longer come with eyeballs staring at us from every conceivable angle."

"Right. . .honestly, I'm surprised this domain even still exists," Victor admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I thought you would have torn it all down to the dirt upon the Dollmaker's defeat."

"Well, I destroyed everything _under_ the dirt – the Cellars were beyond any repair," Alice said, shuddering as she recalled the rusty nails and splintered wood, the dripping candles marked with agonized faces of melted wax, and the strange hybrid creatures formed from human skeletons, taxidermy animals, and doll parts. "But this weird little city has been claimed by the Insane Children. Even after everything, they still think of it as home. I can't just kick them out." She shrugged, turning to face him properly. "And I certainly can't condemn them to an eternity attending Skool, now can – I. . . ."

She trailed off as she caught sight of his outfit for the first time. Victor frowned, tilting his head. "Alice?" he asked, following her gaze. "What's–"

He froze, eyes wide. For a moment, neither of them could do anything but stare. Then, slowly, Victor lifted his head, jaw set and eyebrows low. "Don't. Laugh."

She tried. She really did. She stood ramrod straight and pressed her lips together so tightly they turned as white as his face. She took in the floppy blue collar with the white stripes with nary a twitch. The big white bow with the silver A pinned in the middle with the faintest of smiles. The droopy sleeves just about ready to overtake his hands with an easily-choked-off giggle.

And then she got to the at- _least_ -three-inches-too-short-for-him trousers, and it was all over. She clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling her snorts and snickers as best she was able. "I'm sorry!" she managed to get out as Victor glared, betrayed. "I don't mean anything by it! It's just – oh, look at those high gray socks!"

"Mother _forced_ me into these bloody sailor suits!" Victor said, tugging on the bottom of the shirt with an expression that suggested he was about ready to set the accursed thing on fire with himself in it. "They _never_ quite fit me right, no matter how much tailoring she paid for!" He glared at his exposed legs. "And why is it a mark of _wealth_ to have a boy wear _shorts_ in all weather?! I froze my poor shins off half the year, even indoors!"

"Don't ask me. . .think of it this way," Alice added, still giggling. "At least you don't have the matching hat."

"Don't give yourself ideas!" Victor patted his hair, confirming nothing newly ridiculous had landed on his head. "I deliberately lost three of those before Mother stopped buying them."

"I'm surprised she gave up that early." Alice sucked in a deep breath, mastering herself. "My apologies, again – but if makes you feel any better, my own dress isn't much improvement." She swept her hand up and down the yellow-and-blue-striped bodice and pink-checked skirt. "Bit of a color clash, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's – not that bad," Victor said, diplomatic as always. "Though the – gloves? Do you still call them that if they don't have fingers?" He shook his head. "Anyway, they don't match at all. . .I can't believe your mother would ever dress you up in something like that."

"She didn't," Alice assured him. She did a slow spin, examining her outfit. "In fact, thinking back on it. . .I'm pretty sure this is a combination of a couple of different dresses I saw on dolls during a shopping trip out in London with Lizzie and my mother." She tugged the skirt, then poked the fluff popping out of her sleeve. "One my father sent us all on when he couldn't stop Bumby coming over for tea again. Given this is where I learned just how vile he truly was. . . ."

"I see." Victor straightened his collar. "So – were there dolls in sailor suits on that trip too?"

"I do recall seeing a couple – but I think the real reason you're in that get-up is because of that picture of you and Scraps we saw in your old room," Alice said. "It's the only outfit I've ever seen a child you in, and given that this is a world of childhood, however subverted. . .you're very cute," she added, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Victor grumbled. "I don't want to be cute."

"I'm sorry, you haven't a choice in the matter. It's my imagination, after all." She wrapped her arms around him. "Come on, don't be a grouch. It's not nearly as horrible as you think it is."

Victor sighed in defeat. "I know, I know. It's just – all the other boys liked to make fun of me for wearing these outfits," he said, touching the A on the bow. "Now Wonderland is taking the piss too."

"Wonderland was taking the piss _long_ before this," Alice replied. "Or have you forgotten how we first arrived in each other's clothes? But it doesn't mean anything by it." She reached up to rub his shoulder. "And I assure you, the Insane Children aren't going to be making fun of your attire."

"Good to know." Victor took another look around the room. "Speaking of which, is this Fort Resistence?"

"No, we're still a few houses away," Alice told him. "The portals may be handier than us waking up and walking to another part of London, but they rarely put me _exactly_ where I intended to go." She gave the butterfly painting – now, sans its terrible pin, sporting wings of a pure, unblemished white – above the keyhole door a smile. "Still, the whole point of tonight is to give you a tour, so it's for the best we're not right at our destination. I promise you fewer leering doll heads than there were when I first arrived."

Victor made a face. "Thank you. So – where to?"

Alice released him and stepped up to the keyhole. One _hic!_ later, she was just the right size to knock on the door. It obligingly creaked open, revealing a long checkered passage. "Just follow me," she said, glancing up before smirking at his skinny ankles. "Try not to catch a chill."

"Oh ha ha," Victor said, dropping to the size of a particularly tall mouse with a hiccup of his own. "You should see if the Comedy Theatre on Panton Street is looking for acts."

"Hmmm – a paying job _and_ all the free produce I could carry being chucked at my head," Alice said, laying a finger on her chin. "Perhaps I _should_ consider it."

"I don't think anyone would waste _fresh_ food on an act they didn't like," Victor pointed out as they jogged down the tiny hall. "And I know I say you look good in anything, but even you would have a hard time wearing rotten tomato with grace."

"Ugh, fair point."

They came back out into the open air, springing back to full size with a double _hic!_ A pair of purple sticks revolved nearby, green platforms jutting out of each at just the right height to form a path. They hopped on the lowest as it came by, taking a moment to admire the scenery as they spun around. "You might want to consider renaming this domain," Victor admitted as they jumped to the next platform. "After all, it's not just _one_ dollhouse. It's an entire town."

"True, but you know very well naming things has never been my strong point," Alice said, giving him a nudge. "What would you call it, given the chance?"

"Er. . .well. . . ." Victor scratched the back of his head, turning pink around the ears. "My brain's stuck on 'Doll Town.'"

Alice grinned triumphantly. "Not as easy as it looks, huh? Good thing the residents don't really care what it's called, so long as it exists." She leapt off, landing in front of House C. "And isn't a bunch of broken derelicts crumbling into huge trash heaps. It really is nice to see what it looks like when I'm not perverting childhood toys with the suffering of real children."

"It's much cheerier than how you described it before," Victor agreed, following. "Everything looks like it's gotten a fresh coat of paint. . .you know who would like it here?" he added. "Victoria. She mentioned once that one of the few toys she had growing up was an antique dollhouse. She'd probably consider this a nice walk down memory lane."

"Perhaps," Alice nodded. "Too bad Travel Into Fantasy is a spell for only two – we could have had a full party with her and Christopher, if they'd been willing."

"There might be a different version of the spell for more people," Victor said, holding up a finger. "Like how Slip Through the Veil is for small groups trying to break the barrier between dead and living, and Tear The Veil Asunder for large. We should ask Dr. Fixxler."

"I'm for it – I'm just worried that his answer will include something about needing a dragon's scale or the tears of a mermaid or something like that," Alice replied. "I think we'll have to find another way of sharing our adventures."

"You _could_ finally write that book," Victor hinted with a playful grin.

"For an audience of two?" Alice joked back. "Good way of ensuring it gets read, I suppose." She prepared to shrink to pass through the next keyhole, then paused. ". . .Do you really think I could sell stories about Wonderland?"

"Of course!" Victor replied, clasping his hands before him. "Alice, you are _amazing_ with words. Haven't all these months of entertaining us at Houndsditch convinced you?"

"I'm amazing to _you_ ," Alice corrected him gently. "The general public is another matter. Public opinion may be turning in my favor thanks to Tailor spreading the truth about Bumby, but – I suspect, for some people, the specter of Rutledge shall always loom large over me." She ran her fingers through her hair. "And there's the small matter of how most of my stories lately involve me eviscerating troublesome Army Ants, or slicing the heads off Madcaps. Charlie and Abigail may eat them up, but trying to sell them to more innocent babes would likely get me in hot water."

"There's always the first two times you came here," Victor pointed out. "When you were small. What about that reverend you supposedly charmed with talk about Wonderland on a boat ride?"

"Oh, Mr. Dodgson was just a sweet man who liked stories – and Nanny," Alice said, chuckling as she recalled the stammering not-quite-clergyman surprising Sharpe with a bouquet one fine summer day. "But I'll give you that my initial adventures down the rabbit hole and through the looking-glass are quite child-friendly – if only thanks to me being a child at the time. I _could_ give those a try. . . ." She smiled at him. "But, as I've said before, only if you agree to be my illustrator."

Victor bowed. "It would be my honor, Miss Liddell."

"Oh, no, Master Van Dort – it would be definitely be mine," Alice countered, curtsying back. "I've never met a man as talented with a quill as you. In more ways than one, after that encounter with Ol' Amos."

Victor scowled, eyebrows low. "I hope that bastard's rotting in the deepest, darkest, dankest cell they have on Bow Street. Him and Paltry Pete. The plans those two had for the children – and you! How _dare_ they assault you like that? How long did it take that bruise on your ribs to fade?"

"Over a fortnight – I half expected it not to be gone by Christmas," Alice admitted. She shuddered as Peter's phantom tongue flicked her ear. "But I'd rather a boot to the chest than some of the _other_ things they had planned."

The angry red fled Victor's cheeks, leaving them snowy with horror. "Oh – yes," he mumbled, shutting his eyes. "That's – t-that's true enough."

Alice winced. "Sorry. I don't mean to bring up bad memories. It's just. . . ." She turned on the spot, seeing splintered walls and flaking paint, wooden army men with their guns turned on themselves, and Bakelite dolls with their arses pointed toward the sky. "Things may be better now, but this place has a twisted history. Makes it too easy for the mind to go down – certain paths."

Victor nodded, opening his eyes. "I understand. B-better than I'd like." He rubbed his back, just above his arse. "I am _so_ glad you managed to avoid that torment. From e-everyone who crossed your path."

"Me too. Amos and Peter at least weren't too hard to fight off, and I've learned how to avoid anyone too handsy on the street. And thankfully Bumby never decided to press his luck." If he had – Alice gritted her teeth, shivering almost out of her boots. "That's all in the past now," she reminded herself firmly. "Bumby's gotten his 'final reward,' and Amos and Peter are currently suffering their earthly ones. And I _certainly_ have no intentions of letting some trasseno touch me like that in the future."

Victor nodded again, jaw set. "Good for you. You should _never_ have to suffer such – such _vile_ behavior."

Goodness, he sounded angry. And, underneath it, maybe just a little – sad? Frightened? But then again, given his own experiences with Bumby. . . . _I'm probably dancing on a few raw nerves here,_ she thought, biting her lip. _Especially given_ _those nightmares that keep driving him from our bed. . .I really need to talk to him later. Remind him again that he doesn't have to suffer alone._

But now wasn't later, even by Hatter's watch. She took his hand and tugged him on. "In the past," she repeated. "Right now, we have a Fort to visit. Can't keep the children waiting. They might eat all the cake that's scattered around these parts."

"Cake?" Victor smiled, and she could practically see the bad thoughts lifting off him as his mind turned to happier topics. "After two teas, a visit to a pub, and the Looking-Glass banquet, you still have _room_ for cake?"

"I always have room for dessert," Alice responded, patting her stomach. "And in here I don't have to worry about an upset tummy if I choose to over-indulge." She turned her finger on his middle. "And it's not like you've been shy about eating and drink your fill, Mr. I Must Have A Pocket Dimension For All That Food."

Victor laughed. "It's the Van Dort way! You saw how readily my father put away his sardines on our last trip."

"The lot of you have black holes for stomachs, then." Alice jerked her head toward the keyhole before them. "Come on, then, and bring your bottomless pit with you."

They jogged through the miniature hallway, then hopped up to the next platform toward House D. Alice gave the lever inside (now sporting a little clock instead of a bloodied eyeball) a tug, and the walls beside them rotated, opening up access to the basement. One short fall later, they'd reached the green chalkboard "field" upon which Fort Resistence stood. Alice grinned as she spotted a banner strung up between the two towers. "Seems you're expected!"

"It does," Victor said, blushing at the purple "HuLLo MR. VicToR" scribbled across the white cloth. "I'm still not used to people being _glad_ to see me."

"Even after such enthusiastic welcomes from all the rest of Wonderland?" Alice shook her head fondly and squeezed his fingers. "Silly – they love you as much as I love you. Which is _more_ than enough to fill an entire continent."

Victor ducked his red head. "And you accuse _me_ of being a flatterer."

Alice ruffled his hair. "If you can dish it out, you can take it as well. Now come on, we've kept them waiting long enough."

They walked up the slight slope to the Fort hand-in-hand, sending up little bursts of chalk dust with every step. The Insane Children were gathered outside the front doors, taking turns on a hopscotch board they'd drawn there. Thinker spotted them first, flapping the overlong arms of his straitjacket at them cheerfully. "Hiiii! They're here! They're here!"

Leader, shakily balanced on one leg in square six, craned her head to look. "Hullo!" she called, rocking from side to side. "You took the long way round!"

"We had a lot to see!" Alice replied, stopping at the edge of the board. "We didn't mean to interrupt your game."

"Careful – you're rather unstable," Victor said, frowning at her trembling leg.

"Oh, that's okay," Leader said, tipping her head back and making her body wobble even more dangerously. "I'm always rather unstable."

"That may be so, but I shouldn't think you'd want to crack your head open before you greet your guest of honor," Alice pointed out, folding her arms.

"Suits Thinker fine!"

"Yes, but you're not Thinker, are you?"

Leader pursed her lips (as much as she could) and nodded, which looked very weird when one's head was upside-down. "True." She wrenched herself upright and jumped into squares seven and eight. "We got all our parts back, every one. No point swapping them around."

"Exactly." Alice waited until she'd turned and hopped her way back to the start, then gently pushed Victor forward. "All right – everyone, this is Victor Van Dort. Victor, I would like to introduce Leader, Thinker, Drillhead, Caged, Ginger, and Scribbles."

The children rushed forward, surrounding Victor like a school of misshapen piranha. "Hullo!"

"You're tall!" Thinker declared, tipping his head up. The top of it flopped open, exposing his pulsing brain. "Taller than a Doll Girl!"

"Just as pale too!" Caged poked Victor's side. "Don't feel like porcelain though."

"Is the weather different up there?" Ginger inquired, tugging his pants leg. "It's sunny down here. We like sunny."

Scribbles prodded Victor in the stomach with her crayon, then turned to Leader with a frown. "No – doctors didn't feed him much, did they?" Leader said, shaking her head. "Not as much as they feed themselves."

"Ah – n-no, no, I'm just – l-like this," Victor said, stumbling back a step. His face twitched as he looked at each child in turn, clearly struggling to tamp down an expression of horror. "Alice can t-tell you have a h-healthy appetite." His gaze fell on Drillhead, who was playing with his handle. "Oh God – d-doesn't that _hurt_?"

"Not anymore!" Drillhead declared, grinning through mangled lips. He gave the handle another spin. "And it makes a fun noise."

"I-if you say so. . . ."

Leader walked around him in a circle, squinting at him as best she could with her eyelids sewn open. "Hmmm. . .he's us, but not us," she told the others, hands on her hips. "Not quite the same way. Different scars."

Thinker nodded, causing his head to snap closed again. "Yup. All under his clothes. Under his skin. You'd have to turn him inside-out to see them."

Victor hugged himself, scuffing the ground with a shoe. "I'd, um, r-rather you didn't."

Scribbles wrapped herself around his leg, patting his knee. "It's okay – we won't turn you around and sew you up into someone else," Leader assured him. She poked her own stitches with a frown. "Been enough of _that_ lately."

"And before, too," Ginger agreed, flapping her arms like a chicken.

"You – do look like you've been through the wringer," Victor admitted, patting Scribbles on the head.

"And the gas machine, and the automaton maker, and the sewing machine, and the doll workshop," Leader listed off on her fingers. "But Alice says that ain't gonna happen no more."

"Not as long as I can still fight," Alice nodded firmly.

"No fighting today – playing!" Caged declared, bouncing on her heels and making the contraption bolted to her skull rattle. "Play with us, Victor! You're not Jack, so you can't be dull."

Victor chuckled, finally relaxing. "It's been a few years since I last tried hopscotch," he admitted, looking over at the board. "But I'm willing to give it a go." He rubbed the back of his head. "Hopefully I don't fall over on my first jump."

"You could always try it my way," Alice said, walking over and picking up the button the group had been using as their marker. She skimmed it across the board, watching as it nestled itself neatly in the upper right corner of square six. She nodded, hopped into square one – then exploded into butterflies, dashing straight to squares seven and eight. "Much less chance of ending up on your behind."

"Cheater!" Ginger cried, jabbing a finger at her. "That's not hopping _or_ scotching!"

Victor snorted. "I think I'll try it the traditional way, thank you all the same."

"Suit yourself." Alice picked up the button and butterflied her way back to the start before tossing it to Victor. "Catch!"

He fumbled briefly, but managed to get his hand around it. Alice vacated the board, and he took her place, giving it a toss. It clattered into the middle of square eight. Victor took a deep breath. "All right, here we go. . . ."

He hopped into square one, left leg tucked up against him and arms held out like he was an albino flamingo preparing for take-off. Another little hop took him to square two, then a third to square three – he wobbled, but stayed upright. He jumped into squares four and five, planting his feet wide – he landed a touch crooked, but both shoes made it inside the lines. Square six saw him tilting dangerously to the left as he moved back to one leg – he pinwheeled his arms until he was straight again. "Yes! Come on, you can do it!" Alice cheered.

"Go! Go!" the children cried, clapping encouragement behind her.

Victor spared them a smile, then turned back to the board. Another crooked hop brought him, swaying, into square seven – and then, finally, he reached home, putting his leg down with a sigh. "Halfway there!" Leader called.

"Yes, but now I have to get back!" Victor turned around, scooped up the button, then resumed the flamingo stance. Hop, hop, hop and both feet down, hop, hop –

_Splat!_ _ **"**_ _ **EE**_ _ **Ee**_ _ **ee!**_ _ **"**_ "Oh!"

This time, no amount of pinwheeling could keep him upright. Victor skidded through the remains of the Slithering Ruin, yelping as his head smashed against the unforgiving slate. "Victor!" Alice dashed forward, the children at her heels. "Those bloody – are you all right?"

"Ow. . ." Victor sat up, gingerly probing his scalp. "I-I don't seem to be bleeding. . .ah!" He winced and yanked his hand away. "D-definitely have a lump, though."

"I'm not surprised."

"Here!" Drillhead scooped up an armful of stale cake resting by the pencil fence, hurrying it over to them. "Spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down!"

"That's a whole stomach's worth – but I think that's what we need," Alice said, hooking her arms under Victor's and pulling him upright. She slashed open the old pastry, spilling sparkling roses over the board. "Here you go, darling."

"Thank you." Victor scooped up the flowers, sighing as they vanished into his palm. "Much better. . .and on the last square, too," he added, shooting the fading goop a nasty look.

"We'll give you the point," Alice promised. "Not your fault you stepped in the wretched beast. I really wish they would stop popping up at inconvenient moments."

"You and me both," Victor grumbled. "This is what, the third time I've ended up with their gunk all over me?" He shook his befouled leg, raining droplets of Ruin every which way. "They've been chasing us all over Wonderland! Or, more accurately, chasing _me_." He stamped his foot to clear the last of the glop. "Why can't they just leave me alone?"

"'Cause they're yours."

Victor and Alice both blinked, looking over at Leader. "They're – what?"

"Yours," Leader repeated, hugging her stuffed bear tight. "You know. Leftovers. Like Alice's."

"Leftovers?" Alice echoed.

"From the Dollmaker." The children shuddered, glancing around fearfully. "He slopped all over the place when he was up here. He musta slopped all over Victor too." She tapped her forehead. "Messes all over, and they need cleaning up."

Victor's eyes went wide. "No," he whispered, grabbing his bow in a choke hold. "No no no – i-it – it c-can't be – I – I promised her I w-wouldn't–"

"Victor." Alice grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his neck. "Victor, it's all right. Deep breaths." She touched his chest. "It's not him. Okay? It's just some Ruins. The weakest of the lot. We've squashed every one we've seen."

"Squish squish squish," Thinker nodded, skullcap flying open again. "Drip drip drip. One and one and one and one."

"No!" Victor cried, shaking his head wildly. "No, I haven't been – I would _never_ let–"

"Like I would never let you be hurt?" Alice cut in, sighing. She cupped his face with his hands. "Victor, please. It's probably like when I was being yanked to and from Wonderland last year. It simply wasn't in your control."

" _I have control!_ "

Alice jerked backward, startled at the sudden change in volume. "This isn't right!" Victor continued, face turning a dark crimson. "We got him out! _I_ got him out! I beat him fair and square!" The Vorpal Fork leapt into his grip, glittering and flashing as he gestured with an almost theatrical rage. "I broke that bloody wall of his down brick by brick! I skewered that dreadful heart and watched it burst! I have fought back every awful thought he put into my head! I beat _everything_ he did to me! I am _not_ his puppet anymore! _I'M FINE_ _!_ _!_ "

Leader and the others clung to each other, gawking at him in frozen shock. Victor closed his eyes, panting, as he slid down from the height of his rage. "I'm fine," he repeated, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Alice watched him silently for a moment. Then she stepped forward again and took him firmly by the shoulders. "No. You're not."

Victor opened his mouth to speak again – she covered it with a hand. "You're _not_ ," she repeated. "People who are _really_ fine don't feel the need to scream it, Victor. I wanted to delay this discussion until tomorrow, but it seems Wonderland insists. I've given you the time you asked for – and it hasn't made a lick of difference. You're still suffering, just as badly as you were before. We can all tell. Dr. Wilson's worried about you, June's worried about you, the children are worried about you. . . _I'm_ worried about you." She let her hand drop. "Why can't you admit you still need help?"

Victor's face went through an interesting series of contortions – then his entire body drooped. "I – I beat him," he mumbled. "I got my memories back. I got _me_ back. It's – it's s-supposed to be _over_."

"Nothing's ever really over," Leader said, the others nodding. "Not til it ends."

"And sometimes not even then," Alice said. "Like Emily's search for love, or Lizzie's wait for revenge." She tipped Victor's head back up. "I felt the exact same way when I left Rutledge, only for my hallucinations to start right back up again. When Bumby told me I still had so far to go in my therapy. When Wonderland _still_ didn't feel safe, despite the defeat of the Queen." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I thought winning that battle meant I'd won the war. . .but the war never truly ends. Once you've suffered, you're always a soldier."

"But – but you pushed through," Victor pointed out, rubbing the side of his face. "You defeated everything your brain could possibly throw at you. You've got it together now!"

"After ten years in an asylum, and about one and a half in Houndsditch," Alice reminded him. " _And_ it took a trip to the bloody _Land of the Dead_ to truly settle my brain in the end. Even now I still have the occasional vision – a bit of Wonderland leaking into the real world. Yes, I'll agree that now I'm a functional human being – but it took a long time to get there." She wrapped her hands around his, avoiding the business end of the Vorpal Fork. "Getting better – it's more of a journey than a destination, Victor. Take it from the woman who's spent over a decade in various forms of supervised hospitalization. You're always pushing yourself, always finding more to improve upon. There's no 'I do this, this, and that, and suddenly I'm sane again.' That attitude is what helps the Bumbys of the world. He manipulated me with the promise of it all finally being over." She huffed. "And to be fair, it would have been – just not the way I wanted."

"Don't remind me." Victor massaged his forehead. "I just – I was so _proud_ of myself when I brought that bloody wall down." He glanced at his Fork, gleaming in the sun. "With my very own weapon, no less. I appreciate all you've done for me, Alice, I promise you. Which is why I _don't_ want to keep laying my problems at your feet!" he continued, eyebrows lowering. "You've been through so much because of me already. I don't – I want to make your life _better_ , not worse!"

"Victor, you _do_ ," Alice said, hoisting herself up on tiptoe to better look him in the eye. "Didn't what I said when we first entered the Vale sink in at all? I'd be a much lonelier, sadder, _madder_ person if you weren't here with me."

Victor bit his lip. "But – you've cured yourself twice over now. Dr. Wilson says so. You didn't need my help."

"Dr. Wilson has a loose definition of 'cure,'" Alice replied blandly. "Like I said, I still had quite a ways to go after defeating the Queen of Hearts. I had quite a ways to go _to_ the Queen of Hearts, in fact – do _you_ want to spend a decade struggling against the monsters in your head until you finally score a win? And we haven't even mentioned the most important thing yet."

"Which is?"

Alice cupped his cheek. "You're _not me_ , Victor. You're not used to your brain being your own worst enemy. And that's fine. I don't _want_ you to be used to it." She ran her thumb along his jaw. "I did it alone because – well, in Rutledge, I _had_ to do it alone. My family was gone, my friends had vanished, and I didn't quite trust Dr. Wilson, who couldn't devote all of his time to me anyway. And in Houndsditch. . .the children had their own demons, Dr. Bumby was actively working against me, and – well, part of my journey was finally figuring out I was in love with you," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you know what? You _did_ help me. Even if you weren't here to battle the Madcaps, the Snarks, the Samurai Wasps, the Card Guards, or all the different flavors of Ruin – I knew you still, in some way, had my back. That you would never, ever give up on me." She blinked away the welling tears. "I want to do the same for you, Victor. I want to be the person you know will _always_ be there for you. You _should_ be proud of what you did that night – of saving yourself. But there's no shame in not doing it all in one go. In needing someone else to help you through."

Victor stared down at a picture of a dog chalked on the ground. "I – it's – m-more than that," he whispered. "I'm – I'm a-afraid you – you w-won't love me anymore after s-some of the things you see in my h-head."

"I doubt that – after the steaming pipes and fiery jaw of the Jabberwock, the slimy tentacles and pulsing gore of the Queen of Hearts, and the oozing Ruin and groping hands of the Dollmaker, I'm not easily shocked," Alice informed him. "And given what you've told me about your dreams, your imaginings aren't dissimilar to my own, at least when it comes to Bumby. I should be able to take whatever you throw at me." She reached up and stroked his hair again. "You've seen _me_ at my lowest, and you didn't stop loving me, did you?"

"No, but–" Abruptly he grabbed her in a tight, desperate hug. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered in her ear.

"I don't want to lose you," Alice whispered back. "But Victor – how can I marry a man who keeps pushing me away?"

Victor jerked back, as if she'd just outright slapped him. "The vows say – well, the _standard_ vows say 'for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health,'" Alice corrected herself. "Every possibility accounted for. And as for your own, well–" She lifted his arm. "'With this hand, I will lift your sorrows? With this candle, I will light your way in darkness?'" She interlocked their fingers. "I'm not here just for the good times, Victor. I want to be your light in the dark."

Victor stared at their joined hands briefly, then squeezed his eyes shut. "I didn't – I wasn't – I'm sorry," he finally managed. "Please – help me."

Alice smiled. "That's all you had to say," she said, stretching to plant a quick kiss on his lips. She heard what sounded like Ginger pretending to gag behind her, followed by a "shush!" from Leader. "Tomorrow night?"

Victor nodded. "Tomorrow."

"It'll be all right," Leader said, coming over to hug his leg. "You can find your own way. And then you can be all you again, like we're all us now."

"I hope so." Victor ruffled her hair, then turned apologetically to the other children. "I'm sorry for shouting. My temper tends to get the better of me sometimes, and this – this is a painful subject for me."

"It's okay," Drillhead assured him. "You're not as loud as a Dollgirl."

"And you're much more than merely mad," Thinker agreed, nodding.

"Don't think hopscotch is the right game anymore," Leader said, hands on her hips. "Would you like to color with us instead?"

Scribbles immediately started bobbing her head, grinning and holding up her purple crayon. Victor chuckled. "I'd like that."

"Me too," Alice nodded. _All right then. The push you asked for, Cheshire,_ _if you can hear me – and if the Caterpillar can read minds, I bet you can as well._ _But we'll leave the rest of it for tomorrow night._ _When the poor man is not dealing with a constant wave of low-level embarrassment from his clothes_ _on top of everything else_ _._ She tucked her arm inside his. "I look forward to seeing if you can handle a crayon as well as a quill."

Victor smiled at her as they were pushed into the fort. "Maybe if I'm allowed to draw on the wall. . . ."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The bit about wealthy boys always wearing shorts is something I believe I picked up reading facts about the current royal family (in particular, why little Prince George is always seen in shorts). It does sound very chilly for the child in question, doesn't it?
> 
> \-->This universe's Charles Dodgson having a fondness for Nanny is based on a rumor I found about him that he visited the Liddell children so much because he had a thing for their governess. The mental image that sprang up concerning him and Nanny amused me. :p
> 
> \-->I imagine most of the Insane Children are easily recognizable, but for the two last in the list -- "Ginger" is the one that we chase across some of the earlier bits of Wonderland and who ends up cut in half right before the Dollhouse (she's a redhead), and "Scribbles" is the Leader clone you find drawing invisible pictures on a wall at the Dollhouse Looking Glass Line station (she naturally has a more distinct appearance in this universe).


	12. Welcome To Silent Burtonsville

February 5th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

9:47 P.M.

It's okay, Victor. You're not asking for a lot. Just a few shillings more this week. Father can surely spare that – we have lots of money now! And it's for a book. For learning! Who could say no to that? _Victor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring up at the study door._ Just be polite and it'll be fine. Besides, when does Father get upset about _anything_?

_"Razzum-frazzum crooks. . . ."_

_Sometimes, Victor thought the universe existed just to prove him wrong. He froze, hand raised for the knock. Was that – well, it had to be. This was Father's private study, after all. But he sounded so – annoyed. So – Mother-ish. Concerned, Victor turned his knock into a push, creaking open the door and peering inside._

_Father was at his desk, muttering to himself and tapping his pen against the side_ _. Victor couldn't understand what he was saying, but it didn't sound nice. Every so often, he'd lift his head and glare at one of two stacks of paper beside him. Victor stared at him, astonished. This was – peculiar. Father never,_ ever _acted like this. "What's wrong?" he blurted, before he could think better of it._

_Father started, then blinked and looked back at him. "Oh – didn't see you there, Victor." He let out a heavy sigh. "Don't you worry about it, son. I'm just in a no-win situation."_

_"No-win?" Victor echoed._

_"It's when you're stuck between two options, and both of them are bad." Father shifted his papers, spreading a few out in a fan across his desk. "You see, one of the big machines we use for processing our fish broke today. And the only mechanic in the village wants a frankly ludicrous amount of money for repairing it. Hiring anyone else will probably take a fortnight at best." He twiddled his pen. "So, I either spend a lot of money by giving the mechanic what he wants and crossing my fingers in the hopes he does what he says he will, or I lose a lot of money by shutting down part of the cannery while I wait around for someone cheaper. Either way, I'm out a tidy sum."_

_"Oh." Victor rocked on his heels, suddenly feeling bad about wanting a bit more allowance. "I'm sorry, Father."_

_"Not your fault, Victor." Father scratched his balding pate. "I'll figure out something. All part of growing up, really. You'll understand better when you're older."_

Victor had thought, at the tender age of seven, that he'd understood right then and there. After all, he _was_ the son of Nell Van Dort. Dealing with her was the epitome of no-win situation. But right here and now, preparing for bed with Alice, about to let her into his very mind. . .oh, he had a whole new appreciation of the phrase. He fiddled with the top "button" on his pajamas, twisting the little ball of fabric between his fingers. On the one hand, he was not at all keen on this trip into the darkest recesses of his brain. There was so much in there right now that he didn't want Alice to see. All those awful, sick, _corrupted_ thoughts. . .he shuddered, recalling Leader's declaration that the Slithering Ruins that had been dogging their steps in Wonderland had been _his_. That he'd been polluting Alice's mind all over again with his very presence. What happened if he brought her to the source of the problem, and it overwhelmed her? Brought back her madness full-force? He'd never be able to live with himself, with the guilt. . . . And if that didn't happen, he'd have to endure all her shock, horror, and _disgust_ once she realized just what it was he was trying so desperately to lock away. When she got a good look at how _twisted_ he really was. To let her in was to lose her, he was almost certain of it.

On the other hand – _"How can I marry a man who keeps pushing me away?"_ He seemed to be on the verge of losing her anyway, keeping her out. He knew that she loved him – trusted it as one of the main truths of his life. But he also knew that love had limits. That love could break under the right circumstances. Emily requiring an apology _and_ a duet after his thoughtless comment in the tower, and Victoria going through her married life with the last name of White proved _that_ very well. And he could see Alice's patience straining under the weight of all his secrets, all his fears. She'd done so much for him, and how had he repaid her? By closing himself off, refusing her aid, sticking his head in the sand like an ostrich and hoping that if he just _wished_ hard enough everything would go back to normal. To back out now, claiming again that there was nothing she could do, that he would be fine if they just waited – it might be her last straw. And – and God, just the idea of being metaphorically left standing at the altar yet _again_. . . .

"It would be rather inconvenient for you to have a heart attack before we got there, you know."

Victor started, blinking as he was dragged out of thoughts. "I-I'm sorry," he said on automatic, turning to face Alice. "I just – I'm n-nervous." He twisted up the button, unable to drag his hand away from it. "I don't like that _he's_ still in my head. R-ruining my thoughts."

"I don't like it either," Alice replied, swinging her leg as she waited for him on the edge of the bed. "Which is why we're going in there – to force whatever's left of him out."

"Yes, but – but what if he tries to hurt you while we're there?" Victor said, giving the fabric a yank. "What if he tries to wriggle his way back into _your_ head?"

"I'd like to see him try," Alice announced, arms folded. "I know _exactly_ how to deal with him and his beasties now. After what we went through last night with the Army Ants, you can't possibly believe I can't take care of myself."

"I know you can," Victor said, holding up his hands in a peace-making gesture. "You're an absolute marvel with that Vorpal Blade of yours – and all the other weapons besides. It's just. . . ." He paced the length of the room, tangling his fingers in his hair. "In case something happens. . .I don't want to be the cause of more misery for you!"

"Victor – we've been over this before," Alice said, catching his sleeve as he passed by and forcing him to stop. "Whatever's lurking in your head, it cannot be as bad as the knowledge that you're suffering, and you won't let me help."

Victor sighed, slumping onto the mattress beside her. "You might want to wait until you actually _see_ what's up there before you say that."

Alice took his chin and made him face her. "You know, I'm actually starting to regret skipping Queensland last night," she said. "Perhaps if you'd seen the Queen of Hearts's domicile in all its fleshy, squishy, bile-dripping glory, and greeted Her Tentacled Majesty face to face, you'd realize there is _nothing_ up there–" She pressed her finger into the center of his forehead "–that I cannot handle."

Victor looked up at it, crossing his eyes. ". . .what if I can't?" he asked softly. "I – I've only gone up against my demons like this o-once. And it was – n-nearer than I like to say." He clenched his jaw, shivering. "What if I _can't_ beat him back? What if I'm condemned to have him _rotting_ in my brain for the rest of my life?"

Alice's face softened. "A lot of my fights have been near things too," she admitted, running her finger down the length of his nose. "I wouldn't have Hysteria mode if I didn't sometimes get injured enough to need it. My battle with the Dollmaker – it took a lot out of me. I don't think there was an inch of my Wonderland self that wasn't black and blue. But I beat him." She took his hands and looked him straight in the eye. "And so did you. You went up against the monster that ripped your entire self away from you, and you _won_. No matter how near it was, you _won_. And you can win again." She smiled at him, pride shining from every inch of her. "You are easily the strongest and bravest man I know. And I can assure you, what bits of Bumby are lurking inside your mind? They are going to have a _very_ bad time once you find them."

_**"No they won't – you'll fail, you'll fall,"**_ his darker thoughts tried to whisper – but they had no traction at all against the love in her voice. Victor sat up a little straighter, remembering his fight against the wall – the scorching steam of the Teapot Cannon hissing around him as he loosed another bomb against the Ruin-stained stone. . .the springs and gears inside the Clockwork Bomb glittering in the weak sun as it blasted apart another group of Slithering monsters. . .the orange-red flame of the Jackbomb boiling away the terrible hands that had tried to drag him down. . .the roaring of the Hobby Horse as he smashed through the thick rock, freeing more and more of his mind with each heavy swing. . .the smooth stab of the Vorpal Fork as it punctured the terrible heart and brought the whole edifice down once and for all. When he'd woken up that morning, with his mind whole and Bumby's voice silenced – for just a little while, he'd felt like he could conquer the whole world. It would be fantastic to have that feeling again. And – and if they could _find_ that bit of corruption that pulled his thoughts the wrong way, made his eyes occasionally linger on the wrong parts of Alice's body. . .yes, she'd be disgusted, but – maybe she wouldn't automatically reject him? Maybe she'd find the way to save him? Help him take it down, free him from its taint? And then. . .he nodded, suddenly hopeful for the first time in days. "Let's do this."

"That's the spirit," Alice grinned, giving his hands a squeeze. "Got my invitation, then?"

"Oh, yes, just a moment. . . ." Victor got up, getting his sketchbook out of their shared bookshelf and removing the drawing he'd spent most of the afternoon on. "For you, m'lady," he said, presenting it to Alice with a flourish.

Alice giggled as she accepted it. "'Mr. Victor Van Dort requests the pleasure of the company of Miss Alice Liddell for battle against his demons on February the fifth, 1876, in his Otherland. Please R.S.V.P. by ten o'clock P.M.'" She glanced at the clock. "Ten to, so I'm just in time. I would be delighted to–"

She stopped, squinting at the edge of the invitation. "Just a moment – Why do you have a pair of skeletal hands in the corner?"

"It's actually supposed to be a sort of butterfly," Victor said, leaning over and tracing the outline with his finger. "See how there's only one thumb between them? And the border is supposed to be vertebrae. . .you spent so much time on that ticket to Wonderland for me – I wanted to do something nice for you too," he added, as Alice tilted her head. "And since the Land of the Dead is a place fond to _both_ of us now. . . ."

Alice smiled. "True enough – thank you," she said, stretching her neck to kiss his cheek. She propped the invitation up on the nightstand. "I humbly accept your request. Though I assume it is bring my own weapons?"

"Yes – I've still only got the one, you know," Victor reminded her with an awkward grin.

"Mmmm – probably be a good idea to imagine up a few new ones tonight." She tugged his sleeve. "Let's be off – there's not a moment to waste."

"Right." Victor climbed into bed, settling into his usual spot against the wall. Alice pressed up against him, pulling the blankets over them both. "I really hope this goes well," he added softly.

"Won't know until we try," Alice told him. Her hand found his, locking their fingers together. "Comfortable?"

Victor squirmed around a bit, bumping his hip against one of the omnipresent lumps. "As much as I can be in this bed. You?"

"Same." She kissed his cheek again. "Don't worry – we'll get through this, whatever it is, together. Come Hell, high water, or long plunges down rabbit holes. Or whatever method you're using to get us there."

Victor chuckled. "Right – I'll try not to give us a concussion on the way down." He returned the kiss. "Good night."

"Good night." Alice pulled the pillow a little closer, then dropped her head on it and shut her eyes. Victor followed suit. _Okay_ _,_ he thought, lips pressed tightly together. _Here we go. Into – er – well, wherever it is my mind decides to put us. Wish I had a set of ready-made domains, like Alice. . .I guess there's the field where the wall was, but I'd prefer never to see_ that _again. . .and I don't think any of my childhood daydreams would be appropriate. . . ._ He scrunched up his face. _Argh, why is this so difficult?!_ _I_ _– I_ _just want to get better_ _already!_ _So I can stop bothering everyone with my problems and_ _have a_ life _again! So why am I drawing a blank?_

He sighed, forcing himself to relax. _Calm, Victor. You'll never get there at all otherwise._ _I know, on some level, right where I need to_ _be_ _._ _So_ _– could we just go straight to the source of the problem?_ _Please? Please? Plea–_ " _Ahhhh!_ "

And he was _never_ going to get used to the way the bed just _vanished_ from underneath him whenever this spell took. His eyes snapped open to an all-encompassing field of thick, puffy gray – which, a moment later, revealed itself to be a dense layer of storm clouds as he plunged through it. He pinwheeled his arms and legs, trying to control his descent as the wind whistled around him. "Alice?" he called, twisting his head as he fell. "Alice, are you – OW!"

Abruptly his vision was nothing but pine needles, as he dropped out of the open air into a dense thicket of black trees. Twigs and loose branches snapped against his back and legs as he slapped the offending greenery away. _Ow_ _ow_ _ow! That stings_ _!_ he thought, rubbing his scratched cheek. _At least it's not a concussion._ He winced as another branch smacked against the back of his head. _Though it's getting there. . .where on earth is the_ _grou–_

_POOOMF!_ His back hit the dirt as gray and brown leaves filled the air around him, spiraling every which way for a moment before settling over him like a crunchy blanket. He brushed a few away, waiting for the ache in his spine to fade. "Well. I guess that works."

_POOOMF!_ The leaves flung themselves back skyward as another warm body landed close to his own. He sat up to see Alice doing the same, raking bits of leaf out of her hair. "Huh – reminds me a bit of my very first time falling down the rabbit hole," she remarked. "Could have done with less branches in my way, though. . . ." She glanced over at Victor. "Are you all right?"

"Enough," Victor assured her, examining himself to make sure it was true. To his mild disappointment, he wasn't in the blue suit Wonderland had gifted him for the Vale of Tears. Instead, a dull charcoal gray met his eyes, matched with an equally listless red waistcoat and blue tie. Shaking the leaves from his legs confirmed it was indeed his rehearsal suit – it was even torn in the same places from his fall as it had been after his race from Emily. _Is this a good omen or a bad one? I guess I'll find out. . . ._ "How are you?"

"I'd rank that about a 'four' on graceful entrances, but I'm all in one piece," Alice said, standing up. She was clad in her traditional blue, looking every inch the savior of Wonderland. She scanned their surroundings as she helped haul him out of the leaf pile. "Now, is it just me, or does this look like the forest outside Burtonsville?"

Victor took his own look around as he rubbed the last scraps of leaf from his hair. Now that the scenery wasn't trying to impale him, he could see that it did indeed resemble the forest of his childhood. Although – he was pretty sure the trees had never been this tall. Or this imposing, come to think of it – they loomed over him and Alice, thick black stakes of heavy, high-rising pine, filling the world with deep shadow. Victor shivered, turning his gaze earthward again. Forests were usually his element – he had many fond memories of wandering beneath the trees, searching out insects as he played at being a great explorer. This one, though. . .there was just something – _wrong_ about it. Like there was a hidden evil in the dirt, tainting the trees through their roots – on a sudden, horrible hunch, he turned around.

Sure enough, there was the twisted and squat old oak that marked Emily's final resting place. Unlike the other trees, though, it was a mess – full of long termite tunnels and patches of ugly white mold. And around its roots. . .Victor bit his lip as he looked at the shattered chunks of white marble – half a wing here, a bit of stump there. Even in a dream, the desecration tore at his heart. _I guess I did ask to be taken to the source of the problem, though. . . ._

Alice took his hand. "I take it our trip out there is still on your mind," she said softly.

"You don't easily forget your entire hometown turning on you," Victor replied, rubbing his eyes. "At least no one from the village – or worse, Bumby – is here yet. . . ." He glanced up at the cloud-laden sky. "I don't remember it _ever_ getting this dark in Burtonsville."

_Ruuuuumbbbllllleeee. . . ._ "Seems to me a storm's brewing up," Alice said. She reached behind her and drew a blue umbrella covered in delicate lacy patterns from nothing. "I think we'd best get a move on."

"Fine by me, but where do we go?"

_Creaaaaaaaaak. . .crrrrruuuuuunchhh. . ._

To their left, the trees slid aside, revealing a worn path. Victor stared for a moment, then looked at Alice, who shrugged. "It's your mind. I'm just a visitor."

"Right." Victor stood up straight and squared his shoulders. "Onward."

They started along the path in silence, following as it twisted and turned through the depths of the wood. Victor glanced left and right, trying to pick out shapes in the deep gloom between the trees. All was still, and yet. . .he could _feel_ innumerable beady eyes upon them, boring into his skin. He flicked his wrist, and the Vorpal Fork dropped reassuringly into his hand. "Is it wrong to _want_ something to jump out and attack us already?" he asked Alice.

"If it is, I won't say so," Alice replied. "The waiting is always the worst part." She glanced up as thunder rolled across the sky again. "Funny that there's no lightning to go with that."

"It's not light I fear," Victor murmured.

Alice gave him a sympathetic glance. "True. . .how are you holding up?"

Victor shrugged. "I can still see, so obviously my mind isn't totally against me. But I can feel that _something's_ –"

_rustle. . ._ .

Victor stopped stock-still, ears pricked. "Did – did you hear that?"

"No. . .but that doesn't mean it didn't exist," Alice said, opening her Umbrella and holding it out before them like a shield. "Who's out there?" she called, spinning it slowly. "Show yourself!"

The silence stretched out for what felt like a small infinity. "Maybe it was nothing," Victor said, relaxing. "I-I'm all keyed up, I could be imagining GAAAAH!"

Victor flailed backward as, without any warning, something leapt from the woods and clamped onto his face. Cold, clammy fingers dug into his skin as little fangs nipped at his hairline. Victor shrieked and stabbed wildly at the creature's – torso? Palms? Whatever it was that was nearest. _Oh God oh God it feels just like_ him _–_ " _Get off me!_ "

The mystery monster squealed in pain, fleeing to ground level. Victor wiped his face off with his sleeve before taking a proper look at his foe. It – well, if you really stretched the definition, one might _technically_ be able to call it a spider. But rather than chitin, this spider was formed from two hands, stitched together with heavy black thread – each finger a leg, and the joined thumbs with their long black nails forming a crude mouth. Worse yet, they were familiar hands – bony, grasping, and cruel, the kind of hands that just _took_ what they _wanted_ and didn't give a damn who got hurt in the process. . . . Victor tightened his grip on the Fork, swallowing down an upsurge of bile. "Back. Off," he hissed.

The hand-spider hissed right back, then scuttled forward to attack his shoes. Victor kicked into a tree. It landed upside-down with a squeal, fingers writhing in the air. Victor darted forward, Vorpal Fork at the ready –

Only for a length of white string to burst from the gap at the back of the joined palms. It tangled around his arm, squeezing it so tight Victor was sure he'd have bruises – then the spider flipped itself back over, yanking him to the ground in the process. He pushed up himself up on his free elbow, but the spider was already on the move, leaping atop his head and then skittering down his spine, dragging his immobilized arm with it as it made for – _no_ _no get off GET OFF –_

_SNICKERSNACK!_ The spider screamed, and Victor found his arm being pulled upward. He followed the string to see Alice with the wiggling monstrosity impaled on her Vorpal Blade. "No prizes for guessing what _th_ _is_ represents, hmm?" she commented, face scrunched up in utter revulsion. It hissed at her as it tried to squirm free. "God, and I thought the Nightmare Spiders were bad. . . ."

"I think these deserve the name equally as much," Victor snapped, wrenching his arm back. The string finally broke, allowing him to free his abused limb. He got back to his feet and buried the Fork's tines into the other palm, eliciting another squeal. "Do you think they crack like wishbones?"

"Let's find out," Alice said, yanking her Blade left. Victor pulled his Fork right – the spider shrieked as the thread holding it together snapped. The separated fingers twitched one last time, then dissolved into dust. "And you're quite right, but it might get confusing between my Wonderland and yours if we both had an enemy named the same thing." She wiped her Blade on her apron. "How about – Puppet-Hand Spider? It does sort of resemble what the Dollmaker's hands looked like in my final battle with him."

"Fine by me." Victor located a handkerchief inside his jacket and scrubbed his face with it. "Ugh. . .I _never_ wanted to feel _his_ touch again. . . ."

"Easy, easy," Alice cautioned, pulling his hand away as his face went red. "Don't hurt yourself – that's the monsters' job."

Victor's reply was cut off by a familiar _**"Squee!**_ _ **"**_ He whirled around and stomped the Slithering Ruin creeping out from between the trees. "No," he growled. "Their job is to _die_ and leave me in peace."

Alice grinned. "Now there's my Swell." She jerked her head up the path. "Let's keep moving. The quicker we go, the quicker we solve your problems. And the less beasties we have to deal with."

"Right." Victor stalked forward, fire in his veins. Another Puppet-Hand Spider scuttled onto the path – he stomped on that too, making sure to cover the spinnerets (palmerets?). "I absolutely need a ranged weapon," he added, stabbing the probable head of the creature until it stopped moving. "Something with the same stopping power of your Teapot Cannon."

"That drawing quill of yours stopped Amos pretty thoroughly," Alice noted. A Slithering Ruin dropped off a branch above her – she spun out of the way and slashed it open in one smooth motion. "Perhaps you could have a giant one, like a javelin."

Victor laughed despite himself at the mental image. "Oh dear – I don't think I'd be much good with one _that_ size! I could barely throw it!"

"All right, what about a set of normal-sized ones? Like darts?"

"I played that with Mayhew once. Fortunately I never speared him, but I never got near the bull's eye either. Half the time I wasn't even near the board!" He pondered a moment, squashing another sneaking Ruin beneath his shoe. "Maybe if I had something to help me aim, though. . . ."

**BOOOOOOOM!**

Victor jerked his head up, just in time to be pummeled full in the face by a sudden, drenching rain. "Ah!" He shook his head, then wiped the water out of his eyes. "Ooof. . .I think I spoke too soon about my mind not being totally against me."

"Not encouraging, is it?" Alice agreed, fetching out her Umbrella again. Not that it was much help – as the rain increased, so did the wind, lashing the drops against them and threatening to rip the delicate lacy shield from her hand. "And I thought the Vale of Doom had miserable weather. . .you can barely see your nose in front of your face!"

"Tell me about it," Victor said, hugging himself. "Hopefully we won't get any more – hey!"

He jerked his foot up as a Puppet-Hand Spider scuttled over it, hurrying back along the path. "Where do you think you're going, you little monster?" he demanded, turning and stamping on it. It hissed and squirmed beneath his shoe. "Just because it's raining doesn't mean I can't–"

_**craaaaaaaaaack – THOOOOM!** _

Lightning burst across the clouds, briefly illuminating the forest as if it was high noon. Victor's jaw dropped. Behind them, contained in the flash, were _dozens_ of Puppet-Hand Spiders and Slithering Ruins, coming out of the woods to form one big mass of horror. "Oh God. . . ."

"What?" Alice asked, struggling with the wind for control of her Umbrella. "Don't you _dare_ turn inside-out. . . ."

"Alice, I – I think we might need to–" _**craaaaaack – THOOOOOOOM!**_ Another jagged bolt, and the Ruins and the Spiders were – were _clinging_ to each other, Spiders interlocking themselves to form gigantic mockeries of hands, Ruins melding together into long goopy arms, the two twisting together into a horrifically familiar face with a dripping black beard and blank eyeless sockets. . . . "To _run!_ "

"Huh?" Alice started, then shrieked as a third flash of lightning illuminated the – the _Conglomeration_ as it rose up on its elbows. "Oh! Yes! Best idea I've heard all day!" She snatched his hand, and together they took off down the mud-swollen path. "If it's any consolation, in my experience, Slithering Ruins are notoriously slow!"

_**"SCRREEEEEEEEEEE!"** _

Victor glanced behind them, just in time for another bolt to race across the sky and reveal the Conglomeration towing itself along on dozens of tiny fingers, malformed hands clawing up the rain-soaked earth in pursuit. "I think the Puppet-Hand Spiders are faster," he whimpered, surging forward on the burst of terror.

_Twaaaang!_

His leg caught on a nearly-invisible length of string, and he pitched forward, digging a deep groove in the mud. He rolled over just in time for the Puppet-Hand Spider responsible to launch itself at him. "Gah!" On pure instinct, he drew his fist back and punched it.

The unfortunate Spider went flying, sailing smack into a tree and impaling itself on a branch. Alice laughed – then choked as a Slithering Ruin jumped from the needles above into her face. "For – don't we have enough to deal with?" she sputtered, bursting it with her knife.

"Apparently not!" Victor said, ducking as another Puppet-Hand Spider flew down from on-high and tried to grab his hair. He rolled to his feet and slashed at it with the Fork. The tines caught the stitching, snapping the thread and reducing it to two squirming halves. There was another _**"SCREEEE!"**_ of rage behind them, closer than before. "I swear, I'm on the verge of yanking out a Jackbomb and setting this whole place on fi – oh, Alice, I'm sorry!"

"Don't be – I wouldn't _have_ a flamethrower if I didn't think I needed it!" Alice shouted back, yanking out the toy in question. "And considering I once got it to work _underwater_. . . ." She cranked the handle three times, then spun, boots slipping in the mud as she flung Jack at the silhouette of the Conglomeration just visible through the rain. "Go go go!"

"I don't need the reminder!" Victor took off, leaping over the corpse of his latest victim. Behind them, he heard the familiar tinkle of "Pop Goes The Weasel" – then _fwoooooossh_ as Jack popped up and jetted flame. It was soon joined by the hiss of steam and a chorus of high-pitched screams. He turned briefly to see the Conglomeration wreathed in crackling orange, twisting and writhing as its constituent creatures became naught but smoke and ash. "Serves you right," he muttered, before resuming his flight, Alice at his side.

They ran for quite a while, unwilling to slow down just in case one Jackbomb hadn't been enough to stop the beast. Eventually, though, with no further sounds of pursuit behind them, Victor surrendered to his aching legs and flopped against a nearby tree. "Oooooh. . . ." He peered back down the path, and saw only mud and rain, fading into darkness. "I think – I think we – I think we lost it," he gasped out, pressing a hand against his chest.

"Good." Alice braced herself against the tree opposite, wiping the sweat from her face. "That was – that was horrible. I didn't think – anything could be worse – than the Dollmaker." She let out a long, heavy breath. "No _wonder_ you – you have so many nightmares."

"No, that's – that's the first time I've ever seen _that_ thing," Victor corrected her, shaking his head. "My dreams are usually just his face, in the dark, with those a-awful blank glasses. . . ." He shuddered. "Trust my brain to come up with a _more_ horrific version of him when I'm trying to knock him out once and for all."

"You can't fight off your demons if they don't have a form for you to fight," Alice said philosophically, before sighing. "Granted, I would have preferred a less terrifying form myself, but – we'll work with what we're given." She pulled her hair back from her face, squeezing it out in a fist. "On the plus side, I think the rain's starting to let up."

Victor glanced upwards. The clouds were a touch lighter now, more gray than black, and the rain didn't hit his face with quite the same urgency. "Good," he said, pressing down on his own hair to get what water out of it he could. "Not that it makes much of a difference. . . ."

"At least we can't catch cold." Alice stepped away from her tree, rubbing the bark off her palms. "Onward again?"

"I'm certainly not going _back_." Victor peeled himself off his tree, rubbing his forehead. "The last time, once the wall came down, it was the prettiest forest in the world. What happened to it?"

"You, I'm afraid," Alice said, taking his hand. "Count yourself lucky it's not _literally_ falling to pieces in front of your eyes."

"Don't give me ideas," Victor responded. "We already know I find you very inspiring."

"Well, then, take inspiration from this instead – the Infernal Train nearly destroyed Wonderland entirely, and I still brought it back, right from the brink." She squeezed his fingers. "We can do the same here. Make it as beautiful as you remember from before."

Victor squeezed back, managing a very wet smile. "Right. I'm so glad you're here, Alice. After what we just saw, I don't – I don't think I could do this on my own."

Alice's answering smile chased away the lingering guilt over his inability to fix his own damn problems. "I'm glad to be here. Terrible monsters and horrible weather notwithstanding."

_**"Hisssss. . . ."** _

Victor jerked his head around, to see a Puppet-Hand Spider stalking them from the trees. "Best for us to start moving again, I think," he said, hand closing around his Vorpal Fork.

"Indeed," Alice said, following his gaze. She reached behind her, and then – _whip-whip-whip-SCHLUK!_ The Spider was pinned to the tree behind it, writhing its last. "Only way out is through." She summoned back the Blade, then switched it out for her Umbrella once more. "Lead on, my love. Perhaps, if we're lucky, we'll find someplace where we can get a roof over our heads."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->As the title suggests, one of my inspirations for Victor's current state of mind is the famous _Silent Hill_ series. I went with the rain theme of _Silent Hill: Downpour_ over the traditional fog, though -- it ended up working better with the story I wanted to tell.
> 
> \-->The skeletal-hands butterfly Victor draws on the invitation is from the A:MR art book -- there's lots of grim butterflies in that vein fluttering around the start of each new chapter. It seemed him.
> 
> \-->Landing in a leaf pile should remind Alice of her first trip down the rabbit hole -- I was directly inspired by little Alice landing in a leaf pile when she finishes the trip down to Wonderland in the first book.


	13. Round One: Ruined Barkis

Silent Burtonsville

"Well. At least we're out of the woods. Literally if not figuratively."

"I'll take that for now," Victor replied, stepping past the too-neat line of trees out into the open. He scanned his surroundings, taking a moment to kick the mud off his shoes. An expanse of half-dead grass greeted his eyes, along with the meandering river that curved S-like through forest and field alike. Directly before them, the path split in twain, changing from dirt to cobbles as it did. The right fork went straight on, over the old stone bridge and up the low hill to Burtonsville. The other curved left, trailing along the edge of the trees before terminating at the spiky edifice of Galswells's church. "Surely what we want is in town," he murmured. "So I guess we go straight."

A gap abruptly opened in the thunderous sky, revealing a brilliant full moon. Its silver light pierced the damp gloom, landing squarely on the church and setting it aglow. ". . .or not," Victor corrected himself lamely.

"Perhaps your subconscious wants the shot at Galswells you never got on our actual trip to Burtonsville," Alice suggested, knocking one heel, then the other, against the cobbles. "I would, in your place." She gazed upon the shining towers. "And, to be honest, I'm rather curious to see what the church looks like. I mean, I understand why we didn't go, I was in no mood to get shouted at either, but still. It's such an important part of your story."

"I'll happily give you the grand tour if it means getting to stick him in the throat once he starts going on about devil worship," Victor said, scowling as he twirled the Fork through his fingers. "And getting out of this rain."

_**"Squeee. . ."** _

Victor turned to see a Slithering Ruin creeping out of the forest, intent on their shoes. "And away from these things," he added, stomping on it. Black gunk sprayed all over the path. "Maybe his yelling will help keep that awful Conglomeration at bay. . .let's go, then."

They jogged up the path, eyes peeled for any unwelcome creatures seeking sanctuary. "It looks more like a castle than a church," Alice noted as they came up to the front door. "Especially with those tall turrets. . .and – what on earth is with that window?"

"Oh, that – Galswells likes to go on about how images of saints and suchlike were unnecessary for proper, God-fearing people," Victor said, glancing up. "Given the way he dresses for his sermons, though, I think he simply – uh."

He blinked, cutting himself off mid-thought. The wide, clear circle with its decorative metal loops that had always reminded him of a daisy was gone. In its place was a ring of deep purple glass, cradling the image of a large, red, disturbingly realistic heart. In fact. . .Victor squinted – was it him, or did the picture look like it was beating?

_CRACK!_

He jerked back as, suddenly, a jagged black line zig-zagged down the window, straight through the heart. A viscous red fluid pooled along the edges of the break, dripping out of the frame and down the heavy gray stone. Victor grimaced, swallowing down a little surge of bile. "Um – we don't have _this_ in reality," he said slowly. "It's rather more appropriate for your Queen of Hearts, isn't it?"

"It is," Alice confirmed with a suspicious frown. "Very strange that it would appear here. . .especially when you've yet to meet Her Majesty. Do you consider Galswells the kind of preacher she would like?"

"Well, he doesn't shout so much about removing heads, but given everything you've said about her grumpy temper. . . ." Another crack sliced through the heart, releasing another steady drip of red. "But what would _she_ have to do with any of this?"

"I haven't the slightest. It's very doubtful that she'd try to sneak out of my head and into yours – not when she's got her King to occupy her time. And, for what it's worth, she _likes_ you. I don't think I would have realized my feelings for you in her domain otherwise." Alice rocked contemplatively on her heels, watching a third crack zip across the abused organ. "This isn't my Wonderland – it's yours. So why would _you_ associate a church with a broken heart?"

_"I love you, Victor. But you're not mine." "She's still my wife! And I will not leave here empty-handed!"_ Victor gritted his teeth as the middle pane in the heart shattered, gushing fluid. "I – I might have an idea. . . ." Slowly, he pulled open the red-stained door and stepped inside.

The interior was familiar, perfectly shaped from nineteen years' worth of sitting on uncomfortable benches and listening to Galswells preach the dangers of sin and joy. Two columns of six simple wooden pews, on either side of an otherwise unmarked aisle, leading up to a small platform containing nothing more than a table altar covered in a plain white cloth. _"Nothing ostentatious,"_ Galswells had declared once in a sermon on pride, apparently unaware of the hypocrisy inherent in his hat. _"The Lord's work is best done in humbleness and poverty. We need not spend and spend on mere_ decoration _to prove our church is capable of miracles. In fact, it is practically_ obscene _to shout our supposed piety from the rooftops so! Uncarved wood and plain glass shall show our Lord that we do not indulge in the sin of vanity!"_

_Well – this church got one half right,_ Victor thought, proceeding up the aisle. _The benches are as dull and splintered as ever. Not a carving in sight._ He raised his eyes, biting his lip as he did. _The windows, on the other hand. . . ._

He stopped, allowing himself a better look at the colorful images that stained each pointed aperture. There was the time where he'd stepped on Catherine Dewburg's dress – _"Oh! I'm so–" SLAP! "You clumsy oaf! This dress cost fifty pounds!"_ The handprint had ached for a week. . .and there was his ill-fated walk with Barbara Porter – _"Tripped indeed! That was the stupidest attempt at a pass I've ever seen, Master Van Dort! And to try it in_ public _! Don't start – don't even look at me!"_ And the crier had seen it too – how bad would it have been if William hadn't bribed him in time? Oh, and there was his "dance" with Giulia Capulet – if you could even call it that. . . . _"Yanked out of your hands the moment you reached the floor! Really, Victor, she's the daughter of an Italian count! When will you learn how to hold onto a girl?"_ And right across from that, his ill-fated attempt at asking – he'd never even _gotten_ her name, she'd just been blonde and blue-eyed and he'd been determined to make a better impression, be like the other men with their deep voices and broad shoulders. . . . _"Hello. May I trouble you for a dance?" ". . .BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, look at him run! Did you_ hear _the way he talked? Hahahaha! I can't believe he even dared show his face!"_ And, of course, dominating the whole thing from the giant circle above the altar – _A clack of bone against metal, opening his eyes to see Emily's stricken face – and then, in a whisper, "I can't." And his heart had dropped straight through his shoes, because after all this, after all they'd been through together, not even the_ dead _wanted him. . . . Victoria's head against Christopher's shoulder, sharing an easy and comfortable smile_ – _"But I'm happy with Christopher too. I can't say I'm sorry to have married him." And he understood, was even happy for her, but – that didn't stop it from hurting. . . ._

"Ah. That's why."

Victor started, then turned to see Alice behind him. "Given that you losing two brides in short succession is more or less the reason we met, I should have guessed," she continued, examining each window in turn. "And I remember you telling me about some of these – that's the famous fall on Barbara Porter, huh? And the ripped dress. . . ." She shook her head. "Your love life has been a comedy of errors, hasn't it?"

"I don't know if I'd use the word 'comedy,'" Victor muttered, shutting his eyes against the judgments staring down at him.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Master Van Dort. I think these are all hilarious."

Victor went stiff. "What – _Barkis_?" he gasped, whirling around.

Lord Barkis Bittern grinned at him from behind the altar, as hale and hearty as he'd been moments before drinking the Wine of Ages. "Hello again," he said in that smarmy voice he thought of as charming. "Here to ruin another young woman's life?"

"What are you doing here?" Victor demanded, the Vorpal Fork snapping into his grip.

"My civic duty. Someone's got to stop Alice from making a terrible mistake." Barkis sneered at the Fork. "And you're _still_ using that ridiculous thing? Ah, well, I suppose no one in their right minds would trust you with a _real_ weapon."

Victor's eyebrows lowered. "I seem to recall you screaming like a little girl when I jabbed you in the arse with this."

Barkis's eyes darkened. "I did no such thing."

"Oh yes, my apologies – it was a manly throaty wail."

"So this is the infamous Lord Barkis?" Alice peered around Victor, one eyebrow raised. "And here's me thinking Bonejangles had the biggest chin I've ever seen. You shouldn't mock the Vorpal Fork, sir – you'd need one the same size to ever get any food into your mouth."

" _This_ is a sign of good breeding," Barkis claimed, stroking the body part in question. "At any rate, I certainly rate higher in attractiveness than that scrap of a birch tree you've unaccountably linked yourself to."

" _I'm_ supposed to be the delusional one around here," Alice replied, folding her arms as Victor bit back a grin.

"Forgive me for contradicting a lady, but I think that title must go to the cannery heir." Barkis turned back toward Victor with a smirk. "How twisted up must your mind be to believe she'll stay with you after every other woman in your life has left you in the dirt?"

The smile vanished. Victor hit Barkis with his hardest stare. "She loves me."

"Does she?" Barkis swept a hand up, toward Emily with her hand over the goblet and Victoria standing next to Christopher in her wedding gown. "So did they – at least, so they told you. But it was all for naught, wasn't it? In the space of a mere two days, you proved yourself a fool. Unworthy of their attentions. So they left you behind, waiting at the altar, wondering and wondering just what it was you'd done wrong."

"It wasn't like that!" Victor snapped, moving forward a step. "Emily didn't want to rip me away from life – didn't want her dreams to come at the expense of someone else! Once _you_ were out of the picture, she was ready to move on! And Victoria – she was torn away from me by her parents! She didn't leave me of her own free will! She married Christopher because she thought I'd _died_!"

"So neither of them needed you to be happy?"

Mere words shouldn't feel like a knife in one's back, Victor decided. "No," he said, keeping his voice level. "And that's fine. I'm glad for them."

Barkis smirked, walking the length of the altar. "Oh, of course you are," he purred. "Poor Master Van Dort – always the groomsman, never the groom. A mere trifle, to be admired for a moment and then discarded." His eyes flicked over the windows, taking in all the other women. "If that. Tell me, how many unsuccessful attempts at courting did it take before your parents threw up their hands and picked out a match?"

_Cruuunch. . . ._ The walls lengthened, more embarrassing memories taking shape in colored glass. "Does it matter? They were _always_ going to arrange my marriage," Victor said, forcing himself to look at Barkis instead. "What _I_ wanted in a wife wasn't important to them."

"Why should it? You obviously weren't going to get one on your own."

"Excuse me, I'm still here," Alice said, waving a hand.

"But for how long?" Barkis replied. "Face it, Van Dort – women only ever stay with you out of desperation. Victoria was fleeing a lifetime of begging in the streets; Emily, an afterlife of loneliness and despair. You were nothing but a convenient warm body to both."

"That is not true!" Victor shouted, clenching his fists.

"Oh come now – you saw how easily you were tossed aside by the Everglots! Not once, but twice, no less! And Emily – anyone could have stood in that spot and said the right words, and she would have greeted them with equal enthusiasm." Barkis leaned forward, bracing himself against the altar. "You weren't special to them. They couldn't have loved you."

"This old line again?" Alice huffed, rolling her eyes. "Look, what Victor had with them wasn't some grand, sweeping, Shakespearean drama – but it _was_ special. He meant something to them beyond just being there. Would Victoria have tried so many times to escape her parents and find him otherwise? Would Emily have agonized over ending the life of a man she cared nothing about?" She stepped in front of him, all gorgeous shining anger. "And he's special to _me_. I'm not with him out of desperation. I want him at my side forever."

"Really?" Barkis grinned, teeth as sharp as a shark's. "'How can I marry a man who keeps pushing me away?'"

Alice sucked in a breath, her fire abruptly snuffed out. "I – that – I didn't–"

"Don't claim you didn't mean it," Barkis pressed, stalking toward her. "You're just as ready to cut and run as the others. He disappointed you, and now you're ready for something better." He flung out a dramatic arm. "Go ahead, admit it! He was handy when you were just London's most famous madwoman, but now that you're the Savior of Houndsditch, it's time to find a husband that's actually _worthy_ of you! Leave this simpleton behind and – _argh!_ "

Barkis jerked away, staggering into a pew and clutching his injured arm. "I have _never_ met someone who poked so much bogey in my life," Victor snarled, bloodied Vorpal Fork in hand as he stood protectively in front of Alice. "She didn't say that to _hurt_ me – she said it because I needed a – a kick in the backside to ask for help! I believe her when she says she wants to stay with me! She wouldn't _be_ here if she wasn't willing to fight for me – for _us_!" He jabbed a finger at the parade of stained glass along each wall. "I haven't had a good history with women, that's true. I've l-looked an idiot and been rejected more times than I can count. But you know? It doesn't matter anymore. I haven't seen any of these ladies in _years_. Some of them, I couldn't tell you their names." He looked up at the window above the altar. "And as for Victoria and Emily. . .I helped the woman _you_ murdered finally reach Heaven. Even if it parted us for good, there's no way I can regret that. And Victoria – now that she knows I'm still among the living, she hasn't left me behind. We've become good friends. If I were so unimportant, why would she still want me in her life?"

"She's a master of politeness, that woman," Barkis said, getting his feet. "She could just be putting on an act."

"For whose benefit? Rejecting me socially wouldn't cause her any grief. It might even _improve_ her reputation, with the things I've gotten mixed up in." Victor pointed the Fork at Barkis's face. "Bumby tried these same lines, and I made the mistake of believing them once. Never again. Victoria and Emily _did_ care for me. And Alice _loves_ me." He swallowed. "And I love her. I love her more than I thought I'd ever love anyone. She's _my_ 'better' – my best, even. And I won't let you ruin what we have with your bull, you bloated gibface. So _shove off_ already!"

Barkis was silent for a moment. Then, to Victor's immense irritation, he started laughing. "Oh dear. . .well, I tried to be nice," he said, blue creeping up his limbs and into his face. "Guess I really do have to kill you." His eyes narrowed, turning a nasty yellow. **"Good."**

With that, he darted toward the altar. Victor followed, Fork at the ready. "I hope you have a better plan than before, Barkis – if that's even your real name!" he shouted. "I beat you once, and I can do it again!"

**"Can you?** **Can you really?"** Barkis whirled around and grinned at him, oily black Ruin dripping from his lips and down his chin. Victor recoiled, feet skidding on the flagstones. **"As I recall, it was Emily who finally disarmed me!** **She's not here to protect you this time, Van Dort!"** He reached behind the table and hefted a familiar crimson bottle. **"Recognize th** **is** **?** **"** he demanded, pulling out a golden goblet from underneath the cloth. With a loud _clack!_ he sealed the mouth of the cup against the butt of the bottle. **"** **I think it's about time you learned what dying from poison feels like!"**

"You _are_ aware which end actually pours the wine on that, right?" Victor said, falling back on snark as he regained his balance. _And here's me thinking he couldn't possibly get any worse. . . ._

Barkis sneered. **"Intimately."** He swung the bottle around so that the mouth faced Victor and slammed down on the goblet's stem. To Victor's surprise, it depressed, just like a plunger –

And then his vision was nothing but a spray of deep red liquid. " _Aaaaah!_ "

He stumbled backward, scrubbing his eyes with his jacket sleeve. _Ow ow ow! Ow, that stings. . .oh God, did I get any in my mouth?_ He spat a couple of times, fighting back a curl of panic. _Don't taste anything unusual. . .but I never did get a chance to actually sample it. And even if I can't actually die here, the way Barkis went didn't look pleasant_ –

_TUNK! TINK! TUNK!_ "He may not have Emily – but he's certainly got me!"

Victor looked up, blinking away the last of the wine. Alice was harrying Barkis like a terrier on a rat, Vorpal Blade rebounding off the bottle as Barkis hastily blocked her blows. "And you are _not_ taking him away from me!" she continued, jaw tight.

**"Perhaps I'll take _you_ away from _him_ , then!" **Barkis retorted, aiming the spray at her. **"It's inevitable, after all!"**

"You shouldn't use words like that if you don't know what they mean!" Alice twirled away from the lethal liquid, then darted in low. Barkis howled as the Blade caught him right in the ribs. Fresh Ruin leaked from the wound, little steaming droplets falling on the stones. "I'll put you down like the rabid little weasel you are!"

Barkis snarled, tossing the bottle into the pews. **"So it's a sword** **fight you want?"** he asked, reaching behind him. A curved sword, with a blade as black as midnight, but otherwise identical to General Bonesaparte's in all ways, appeared in his hand. **"My lady, I can more than oblige!** **"** He swung his new weapon in a wide arc before him, forcing Alice to retreat. **"** **Where shall your name fall on the list of women I've killed, I wonder?"** He darted forward, sword held before him like a rhino's horn –

_CLANG!_ And met Victor's Fork coming the other way. "It won't," Victor snapped, forcing the sword to the side before kicking Barkis in the stomach. The lord crashed into a pew, sending it toppling against its fellows. "For someone who presented himself as such a cultured killer, you're having a lot of trouble landing a single blow!"

**"I nearly put this between your ribs, didn't I?"** Barkis growled, regaining his feet and aiming for Victor's chest with a short jab.

Alice's Blade shot out to deflect it. "The operative word there is 'nearly.'"

Barkis howled frustration and turned back on her, sword a whirling void as he tried to cut her face to ribbons. She butterflied out of reach – Barkis gave chase, only to scream as Victor stabbed his Fork where the sun most certainly did not shine. "Just like last time," he noted with a vicious smirk.

Barkis snarled, black spittle flying. **"It'll take a lot more than that to bring me down!"** He flung himself at Victor, weapon raised high. Victor followed Alice's example and burst into butterflies to escape – the blade just nipped a wing, making him wince as he reformed on the other side of the pews. Barkis promptly scooped up his discarded wine bottle and opened fire on him again. **"You're worthless – useless!"** he crowed as he soaked the battered wood between them. **"** **I should have done Victoria a favor and killed you at the rehear** **sal!** **Your entire village found me a more respectable groom than you!"**

"I think that says more about Burtonsville than me!" Victor raced away from the wine, circling around the front of the row to meet Alice back at the steps. Barkis spun with him, keeping up his steady stream. "And even they didn't bother with a proper burial once they saw how vile you were!"

"Indeed – they just dumped you outside the village walls," Alice agreed, popping open her Umbrella to guard against the spray. "You don't even have a marker. If that's respect, I want no part of it."

**"As if your _beloved_ would get any better!" **Barkis retorted, angling the bottle up. Alice matched him, red wine streaming off the lace and pooling on the floor. **"They wouldn't even _bury_ you, Van Dort – just leave you in the woods to be picked apart by the ravens! A crumpled heap without a single mourner! Don't kid yourself that Alice will be here to the end! She'll come to her senses soon enough!"**

"Ten years in Rutledge wasn't enough to restore them," Alice said coldly, wading her way through the puddles toward him. Barkis pressed himself against the toppled pew, eyeing both her and the ricochet off the Umbrella with trepidation. "I doubt you'll have much luck."

Barkis's response was cut off by a sudden _pffffft_ from his bottle. The stream of wine slowed to a trickle, then an irregular drip. Victor promptly dashed forward and stabbed Barkis in the chest, leaving behind a familiar set of three parallel tears in his jacket. "And I have no intentions of dying in Burtonsville either," he snapped, following up with a fist to the chin. Ruin sprayed across the stones as Barkis's head snapped left. "Either out there or in here! You spit nothing but lies! I won't have you in my mind!"

The bottle clattered against the floor, and the black sword leapt back into Barkis's hand. **"Too late,"** he hissed, thrusting it at Victor's belly. Victor jumped away, only to overbalance and land hard on his arse. Barkis immediately planted his foot on his chest, forcing him down. **"I'll always be here** **,"** he continued, squashing Victor's ribs with his heel. **"Always r** **eady to remind you that love is an illusion–"** he set his blade against Victor's throat **"–and evil always wins!"**

Victor's reply consisted of stabbing Barkis as hard as he could in the toes. The lord howled, jerking his foot away as he bounced on his opposite leg. "Three for three!" Victor said, pushing himself up onto his knees. "Let's see if this time I can make it four!" He got his feet under him and lunged, Fork aimed for where he was pretty sure the throat was under that enormous chin.

Barkis, however, managed to spin out of the way, rebounding off the arm of a bench. Victor hit the stones with a heavy _THUD_ , head smacking against the side of the pew. "Ow!" He rolled over, prepared to fight off the sword again –

But Barkis had a different plan, running for his bottle instead. Moments later, Victor found himself under siege from a fresh torrent of wine. Sealing his lips together, he scrambled for shelter under the pew as Barkis poured the lethal liquid down all around him. _Damn damn_ damn _. . . ._

Alice's head poked in from the other side of the row. "All right?"

"Better than I might be," Victor said, crawling toward her. She extended her hand and tugged him out. "I just – I can't do enough damage to him!" he added, sparing Barkis a glare as they huddled behind the far arm of the pew, Umbrella held over their heads. "He's too quick! And every time I start getting the upper hand, he runs away!"

"He's a stubborn bastard and no mistake," Alice agreed. "He's got to have a weakness, though. Some of _my_ enemies are as much puzzle as combatant – if I don't hit them with the right weapon, or figure out the right way past their defenses, I could be battling them all night." She glanced at Victor, batting a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. "Any thoughts?"

Victor frowned at the curtain of wine pouring down the sides of the Umbrella. "'I think it's about time you learned what dying from poison feels like,'" he repeated softly to himself. "And he seemed awfully nervous when you were reflecting this back at him before. . .maybe he's like a Menacing Ruin and needs his own evil turned back on him. Though I don't think we're going to be able to trick him into drinking it."

"Tricking him into something _else_ , though. . . ." Alice grinned as the wine stream stopped with another _pffft_. "Just leave it with me, Victor." She pushed the Umbrella handle into his hand, then exploded into a flurry of blue wings, surging over the pew and right into Barkis's face. "Hiding behind alcohol, _Lord_ Barkis?" she taunted as she reformed, Vorpal Blade at the ready. "Too afraid to face me like a _real_ man?"

Barkis glowered, tossing the bottle toward the altar steps. **"As if you would know what one was, given the company you keep,"** he retorted, the black sword leaping back into his grip. **"Your threshold for disappointment must be incredibly** **low!** **"**

"I think you mean high," Alice said, her blade clashing against his.

**"Whichever!"** Barkis landed a kick on her leg – Alice grunted, then returned with her own boot. **"Ow! He's a pansy! A coward!"** he continued, eyes finding Victor as he raced up the side of the pews. **"Look at him, running right past – NO!"**

Barkis spun on the spot, charging toward Victor as he realized his true aim. **"** **That's** _ **mine**_ **, you filthy** _ **nouveau riche**_ **!** **You will not – AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"**

The sword _clanged_ against the floor as blue lightning wrapped Barkis in its grip. Behind him, Alice beamed, holding aloft a flamingo-headed croquet mallet. "Oh, I'd forgotten how much fun this one was!" she declared, smashing Barkis over the head. A fresh burst of electricity forced him to his knees. "I have to ask, were you this annoying in real life? I thought _Bumby_ liked the sound of his own voice. . . ."

Barkis snarled and attempted to rip the weapon out of her hands. Victor, seeing his chance, bounded up the steps and snatched the bottle from the floor. "All right, Barkis," he said, the wine inside sloshing as he got a solid grip on it. "Time to silence you once and for all!"

**"No!"** Barkis shoved Alice away and scrambled to his feet, swaying as he grabbed the sword. **"** **I will not be defeated by the likes of** _ **you**_ **again! Revenge is mine!"** He flung himself at Victor, howling a war cry.

Which was easily the stupidest thing he could have done, as it provided Victor with the perfect target. Victor swung the bottle up and slammed down on the goblet plunger, sending a stream of wine directly into the lord's gullet. Barkis gagged, stumbling and dropping to the floor. **"No!"** He clawed at his throat as the Ruin around his mouth turned a disturbing shade of red. **"No! No! Noooooooo. . . ."**

And then, with no warning, he melted, flesh bubbling away into a soupy blue-black-red mess. Within moments, he was little more than an odd-looking stain on the floor. Alice stared down at it, nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ew."

"You said it," Victor agreed, making a face.

_Rrrrrrruuuuummmmbbbllleeeeee. . . ._

Victor started, jerking his head around as the entire church shook. "What was that?"

"I'm not sure–" _Crash! tinkle tinkle tinkle. . ._ the window of Emily and Victoria shattered in its frame, scattering white and blue and red and yellow shards all over the altar. "But I think it's a sign for us to go," Alice finished.

The building shuddered again, stones grinding against each other. One by one, the other windows cracked and broke, chunks of colored glass smashing themselves to smithereens against the floor. "I think you're right," Victor said, as dust and grit began raining down from the rafters. "Come on!" Tucking the wine bottle under his arm, he and Alice booked it for the door.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the ceiling caved in with a loud _BOOM!_ Victor turned and watched as the walls toppled inward, _crunching_ against each other as the old mortar gave way. In just under a minute, the grand old building was reduced to a mere pile of rubble. "You _really_ don't like that church anymore, do you?" Alice observed, kicking a broken hunk of stone.

"That implies I ever liked it in the first place," Victor returned. "The only truly good memory I have from there is my wedding to Emily, and – well, you saw the window. Even that's bittersweet." Something glittered by his feet, and he stooped to find a piece of glass showing a bit of Emily's veil, a single blue butterfly breaking away from the hem. He picked it up tenderly, watching the rain splatter against it in shimmering droplets. "I guess without Barkis to haunt its halls, my mind found no reason to keep the place."

"Mmm. . . ." Alice bit her lip, rocking on her heels. "Victor? I'm sorry."

Victor glanced at her, puzzled. "For what?"

"For what I said last night. Implying I'd leave you. I-I didn't mean it like that, I swear. I didn't even think how. . .how after two failed marriages. . . ." She sighed heavily, eyes on her boots. "Maybe I'm the reason we had to fight that bastard in the first place."

"Alice. . . ." Victor dropped the shard and took her by the shoulders. "Don't be like that. This is not your fault. I meant every word I said to him before the fight." He tried a smile. "Especially those about needing a kick in the arse to get my head out of it."

Alice let out a weak chuckle. "In my head, it was more a push to get you to start walking a tightrope. I just. . . ." She looked up at him, green eyes wet. "I need you to know that I would never _want_ to leave you. The very idea of losing you. . . ."

"I know," Victor assured her, stroking her cheek. "I don't want to lose you either."

"Which has been made very obvious," Alice commented, looking back at the rubble. She frowned. "You seem to doubt that I love you, though. Or, perhaps more accurately, that I'll _keep_ loving you. Why are you so convinced there's something about you that will drive me away?"

Victor winced. "Because – I h-haven't been a very good boyfriend lately," he confessed, rubbing the back of his head. "And because. . .remember what I said earlier? About you not liking what you might see in my head?"

"You've harped on that a couple of times now," Alice nodded. "Is it really that bad? To make you think I wouldn't love you anymore?"

"I think it is, a-anyway." He shut his eyes, clenching his jaw against a surge of searing heat up his throat. "It's a-awful, Alice. It – it d-does things to my head, pulls my thoughts in – h-horrible directions. . .g-gives me those nightmares we b-both hate so much. I c-couldn't bear to tell you before because I was s-so afraid you'd think less of me. That you'd be so d- _disgusted_ by me that you couldn't l-look at me anymore. I just – I w-wanted everything to be – to be _n-normal_ for us, for a change. After everything, I–" His voice choked as the first tears ran down his nose. "I c-can't be alone again. . . ."

The sky apparently sympathized with his plight, as a fresh gout of rain began pouring down from the clouds. Alice wrapped her arms around him. "I understand," she whispered, stroking what she could reach of his wet hair. "I wish everything could just be normal too. But I've got my fair share of disgusting things in my head. And you don't love me any less, do you?" She patted his cheek. "You can't run from this, whatever it is. You have to stand and fight."

Victor nodded. "I know. A-and I have been. I know it didn't l-look like much changed during those weeks you g-gave me, but I swear – I'm fighting it with everything I-I have." He opened his eyes, blinking them clear of both tears and rain. "And now – now that you're here. . .I think we can kill it. Together. Once and for all."

Alice smiled, cupping his face with her hands. "I think we can too. After all, we handled ourselves pretty well in there, didn't we?"

"We did," Victor agreed, the rain lightening as his mood improved. "You were amazing with that Vorpal Blade. And the Croquet Mallet!"

"You're quite skilled with your Vorpal Fork." Her gaze went to the bottle still tucked under his arm. "And look – you've gotten yourself a ranged weapon at last!"

"Oh – I guess so." Victor pulled it out of his armpit and examined it. "The – Wedding Wine, I suppose. I was expecting it to vanish with Barkis."

"The spoils of war, my dear," Alice said, grinning like a shark. "Perhaps we can set you up an account with Yves later. I've got more than enough teeth leftover for the both of us."

Another beam of moonlight broke through the clouds, landing on the bridge into the village. "I think we should go get the rest of me settled first," Victor said, tucking the bottle away again. After a moment, it faded into nothingness – but he could still subtly feel its weight at the back of his mind, much like he was able to sense the Vorpal Fork when it wasn't in his hand. "And preferably before we get soaked to the bone."

"I'm with you on that," Alice said, sparing the continuing storm an annoyed glance. "Lead the way, my darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-->The window at the front of the church is inspired by a "page" in the old _Alice: Madness Returns Storybook_ app, which featured a beating image of a stained-glass heart that you shattered to continue reading the text.
> 
> \-->Yes, Giulia Caplet's last name is a reference to _Romeo and Juliet_ \-- I Googled "Italian girls' names" for her first.
> 
> \-->"Manly throaty wail" is how Frasier tried to play off screaming like a girl once in the _Frasier_ TV show. It stuck with me. XD


	14. Rehearsals and Running and Wretched Creatures, Oh My

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for **vomit and disgusting imagery** , everyone -- unfortunately, one of the monsters within has a nasty habit of throwing up to ward off its enemies. . .

Silent Burtonsville

"All right – is it just me, or are the walls getting taller the closer we get to the village?"

"Not just you," Victor said, huddling closer to her. "I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me in this rain, but. . . ." He squinted, pushing his bangs back. "No, they're definitely higher than they were when we were on the bridge."

"Curious," Alice remarked, idly twirling the Umbrella's handle. The rain bounced off it in weird directions as she did, leaping skyward before surrendering to gravity once more. "I wonder why."

"Well – the things I fear most live in this Burtonsville," Victor said, watching as the walls stretched further upward as they proceeded along the path. "Perhaps I'm just trying to keep them in."

"Or maybe _they're_ trying to keep _you_ out," Alice replied. "You just announced your intent to murder them, with my help. And it's not like either the Queen of Hearts or the Dollmaker made it easy for me to get to them."

"Right. . . ." Victor sighed, shaking some of the water out of his hair. "Frankly, I'm just glad this particular wall isn't dripping Ruin. I had enough of that last time."

Alice patted his back. "If there's another monstrous heart at the center of all this, I will happily help you stab it to death."

Victor smiled. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." She pointed ahead, to a tiny arched gap within the now mile-high walls. "And at least we won't need the Hobby Horse to bash our way inside."

"Oh good." Victor picked up the pace. "Maybe it'll be a little drier once we–"

"Halt where you are, Master Van Dort!"

Victor jolted to a stop, shoes skidding on the wet cobbles. "Oh no!"

"What? Who's this?" Alice asked, peering through the thin curtain of rain at the large hunchbacked figure before them.

Victor scowled. "Pastor Galswells."

Galswells glowered right back at him, standing with arms outstretched directly in front of the gates. "Begone, ye demons from hell!" he cried, hat bouncing on his head as he gestured with his holy staff. "Back to the void from whence you came! Only the worthy may enter here!"

"You mean only people you approve of? No one must be allowed in, then." Victor pulled out the Wedding Wine, aiming it at Galswells's nose. "Will a taste of Elder Gutknecht's finest vintage persuade you to let us pass?"

Galswells sniffed. "I wouldn't trust you to pour it correctly, Master Van Dort."

"We'll see about that." Victor smacked the plunger with his palm. A thick stream of wine burst from the bottle's mouth –

Only to be deflected by a quick motion of Galswells's staff. "A man of God is not taken down so easily!" he declared as the liquid splashed harmlessly against the grass. "I told you – the wedding can only take place once you have properly prepared!"

"The – the – w-what?" Victor shared a startled glance with Alice. "I – I'm not asking you to m-m-marry us. I'm only looking to get in."

"Besides, you don't have a church anymore," Alice added, pointing out the wreck behind them. "There's no place to perform the ceremony. Not that I'd want you as an officiant anyway – can we have Elder Gutknecht instead?"

Galswells grumbled. "Insolent child. . . ." He tapped his staff on the cobbles, and a table just like the one in the Everglots' west drawing room rose out of the ground. One wave of the curly end later, and it was laid with two small taper candles, one thicker lit unity candle, a goblet, a bottle of what the label declared to be "Ordinary Wine," and a gold ring. "I would like to make you recite your Bible, Master Van Dort – prove your soul is free of sin," he said as he got into position behind it. "But I will settle for a rehearsal that does not take _three hours_."

Victor looked down at the table, then back up at Galswells. "You're joking."

"Do I look like a man who jokes?" Galswells picked up a taper candle and slapped it down in front of him. "From the beginning, Master Van Dort."

Victor huffed, shaking his head. "I don't have _time_ for this!" He stalked past the table up to the gates. The village lurked behind the iron bars, wisps of fog drifting through the eerily still streets. He grabbed the ring on the left and yanked –

Only to find it stuck tight. "Rrrrrr. . . ." He tried the right gate – it too refused to budge. He tried the left again, bracing himself against the ground and pulling with all his might. It didn't even give an inch. Frustrated, he rattled both hard. "Let me in!"

No response except the pitter-patter of the rain. Victor set his jaw. _Time for a more direct approach_ _._ With the ease of a man who had spent his childhood learning to scale just about anything to escape his bullies, he climbed up the rusting metal, reaching the top within moments. Sparing a moment to give Galswells a smirk, he started easing himself over –

_CRAAAAAACK – THOOO_ _O_ _M!_ A bolt of lightning zipped down from the sky, sending blue current crawling over the iron. Victor screamed as it bit into his skin, dropping off with palms sizzling. "Ow!"

Galswells raised his staff to the sky triumphantly. "You see? Those who deny the will of God are punished!"

"Oh hush you – you're not making this easier," Alice said, hurrying over to help Victor up. "I think you're stuck going through this again, Victor. It seems to be your version of one of my block puzzles."

"But why – ow," Victor hissed, wincing as his scorched fingers intertwined with Alice's. "Why would my mind force me to replay one of the worst experiences of my life?"

Alice shrugged, pulling him to his feet. "Ask my mind why I had to enter the burning remains of my house both to face down the Jabberwock and invade the Dollhouse. Maybe you need to prove to yourself you're ready to take on whatever's in town." She rose up on her toes, then dropped back to her heels. "Or maybe you just need to reassure yourself you're ready to marry me?"

"But what does _that_ have to do with anything?" Victor demanded. "I – you know I want to marry you, right? I just – don't want to rush into it! And certainly not with _him_ ," he added, glaring at Galswells.

"I don't particularly want to marry you either, given what happened _last_ time," Galswells responded, tapping his cane against the ground.

"Trust me, in reality, I would be quite happy with just going to the registrar and filling out a license," Alice said, touching Victor's chest. "And of course I know you _want_ to marry me. But 'want' and 'ready' aren't the same thing. _I_ wanted to marry you before our trip Downstairs, but I don't know if I was _ready_. A blushing bride is one thing – a hallucinating one, quite another." She cocked her head. "Besides, I think our recent bout with Barkis brought to light some interesting anxieties of yours. 'Left you at the altar,' 'always the groomsman and never the groom' – you've started to associate weddings with _not_ getting the girl, haven't you?"

"I. . .maybe," Victor allowed, rubbing the back of his head. After all, hadn't the exact moment his entire life had been thrown into disarray been when he'd fled his and Victoria's rehearsal in shame? And then Emily stopping their vows midway had just compounded it all. . . . "But it – it seems like the wrong moment," he added. "Shouldn't the time to test my fitness for marriage be _after_ I kill whatever's lurking past those gates?"

"It's your mind – who am I to protest the order in which it does things?" Alice shrugged again. "Maybe it's a carrot – something to strive for while you face whatever horrors lurk in there. Or maybe this is all about getting past what I said last night. Either way, standing around arguing about it doesn't get us anywhere."

Victor sighed. "Fine," he agreed, stepping over to the table. "I certainly don't want to try climbing the walls. . . ." He glanced up at the sky. "I don't suppose it could stop raining for five minutes?"

The clouds lightened a bit, the downpour fading into an irregular drizzle. "Good enough," Victor decided. "Keeps me from having any more unfortunate accidents with the candle."

"The last thing we need," Alice agreed, coming over to stand next to him.

"Indeed," Galswells nodded. "In your own time, Master Van Dort."

Victor nodded, then turned to face Alice, lifting his right hand as he did. "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," he began, making sure his voice was strong and clear. Galswells was not going to have a single thing to criticize this time around. He picked up the wine, pouring a small measure into the goblet. "Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine." He set the bottle down in exchange for his taper, touching it anxiously to the wick of the unity candle. To his intense relief, the flame caught at once, and stayed lit despite the damp. "With this candle, I will light your way in darkness!" he declared, raising it high in triumph. _Excellent! Just one more line to go. . . ._ He set the candle down next to its fellows with care, then picked up the ring, gripping it firmly between forefinger and thumb. "With this ring," he said, turning back toward his "bride," "I–"

His voice caught in his throat. Alice stood before him, hair sopping and limp around her face, goosebumps raising on her exposed arms, her dress a soggy dark blue and running red mess – and she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The most amazing, wonderful, vital woman he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. The woman who held his heart with a grip as strong as iron, yet as soft as a feather. His love, his savior, his goddess. And she was smiling at him, patiently waiting for him to continue. . .just like how Victoria had smiled, had been inhumanly patient with him and his fumbling during _their_ rehearsal. . .a rehearsal that had ended in him setting her mother on _fire_ and looking such an idiot he'd fled the town entirely and left her in the lurch and it didn't matter if he loved her, didn't matter if he wanted this, the only time he'd ever been able to say these vows perfectly was when he'd thought he was saying them to a _branch –_

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe his rattled nerves. All right. Maybe – maybe he _did_ need the reassurance. Just – just a little. He took her hand, slipping the ring on her finger before it could shake out of his trembling grip. "I – I ask y-you – to be m-m-mine."

Alice's hands enveloped his, squeezing lightly. "My turn – do I have the same vows?" she asked, glancing at Galswells.

"All except for the last line," Galswells replied. "That's 'with this ring, I promise to be yours.'"

Alice frowned. "Rather ruins the rhyme scheme, doesn't it?"

Galswells grunted, eyes narrowed in disapproval. "This is not a bawdy song, Miss Liddell," he lectured. "This is a solemn sacrament."

"Still, if I can improve upon it. . . ." She thought a moment, then smiled. "Got it. With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," she said, raising her right hand in a mirror of Victor's pose. She scooped up the goblet and added another splash of wine. "Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine."

_"Your cup. . .will never empty. . .for I. . .will be. . . ."_ And that was as far as Emily had gotten before stopping everything. As close as he'd ever been to being married. And while he was glad he wasn't dead, glad Emily had found her way into Heaven, it still hurt, because – because he'd _wanted_ to get married. He'd _wanted_ to spend his life with someone else. And while it had been kind of terrifying when his bride-to-be had been some abstract stranger his parents were throwing him at, once it had become Victoria, become Emily. . .he'd dreamt of cozy afternoons in the parlor, wild nights at the Ball & Socket, braving the parties his mother so loved with someone who hated socializing as much as he, wandering the back alleys of the Land of the Dead with an enthusiastic guide. . .sharing a bed, a coffin, and waking up each morning to see someone he adored next to him. . . and the longing had only deepened with Alice. Alice, who'd given him both the quiet days and the adventurous ones, who'd let him into her room and bed and heart and given him a taste of what it might be like to call her his wife. . .but weddings didn't work for him, weddings went _wrong_ something always went _wrong_ and maybe she didn't want to leave him but –

A hand cupped his cheek, yanking him out of his racing thoughts. Alice stroked his jaw with her thumb as she reached for the other taper. "With this candle," she continued, voice firm as she touched it to the unity candle's wick, "I will light your way in darkness." She held up the little flame for him to see, then set it aside. "With this ring–" She spread her fingers before him, the golden loop glittering in the candlelight. "I will always be thine."

And just like that, it was over. It was over, and – and she was still here. He was still here. No lords rushing in to make a scene, no second thoughts – or second bride – appearing right in the middle of things. They were here. And they were – married. For the first time in a year, something deep inside Victor _finally_ relaxed. _I can do this,_ he thought, smiling through the drizzle at his blushing bride. _I can get married._

"Hmph." Galswells straightened his hat, oblivious to the fact he'd ruined the moment. "Not _entirely_ correct, but I'll allow it. Congratulations, Master Van Dort. Let's see if you can still manage when the time actually comes." Then, for no reason Victor could see, he picked up one of the altar candles and shoved it into Victor's hand. "And take this with you – let it cause its damage somewhere else."

"Uh – thank you?" Victor replied, blinking.

Galswells just huffed and waved his staff over the table. It sank back into the earth, taking the rest of the props with it. "Have to do everything for these young people," he muttered as he hobbled over to the gates. "Whatever happened to 'God helps those who help themselves?'"

"You just saw me try to climb those," Victor pointed out, frowning.

Galswells ignored him in favor of banging on the old iron. "Open up in the name of the Lord!"

The gates obliged, _schrreeek_ _ing_ wide. Victor and Alice both winced as the sound bit at their ears. Galswells turned to them with a parting glare, pointing inside. "Go on, then. Take your devilry out of my sight."

"Gladly," Victor said, taking Alice's arm and walking past. "Thank you for your services."

Galswells just "hmphed" again and turned away. Alice shook her head. "He really is a sourpuss, isn't he?"

"He is – and this one is _nicer_ than the real version," Victor told her, grimacing as the gates screeched shut behind them. "Ow. . .no hitting me over the head at all." He took another look at the candle, frowning. "And giving me gifts – why _did_ he want me to have this?"

"Given what he said when he handed it to you, he remembered that incident with Lady Everglot," Alice said. "Though _giving_ you the candle seems counterproductive if he _didn't_ want to be set on fire. . .more seriously, perhaps we'll have to burn something later?"

"But we have your Jackbomb for that. . . ." Victor shook his head, banishing the candle to the ether. "We'll figure it out later. I'm just glad to finally be inside."

"Me too." Alice held up her left hand, examining her once-again-bare finger. "You know, I'm not usually one for rings. But. . .that one felt right."

A little pang of longing touched Victor's insides. "It looked very nice on you," he said softly.

"And it will again," Alice assured him, looking up. "I didn't care for the officiant, but I actually rather like the vows. Even if we do just visit the registrar, do you think we could use–"

" _HEAR YE! HEAR YE! CORPSE-LOVING GROOM AND FIERY MADWOMAN SPOTTED BY THE TOWN GATES!_ "

Both Victor and Alice nearly jumped out of their skins. "What the–" Victor swiveled his head around like an owl, the Fork automatically leaping into his hand. "First Galswells, now the crier? Are all my least favorite people going to be showing up here?"

"Probably," Alice said, scanning the area with her Vorpal Blade in front of her. She sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. "And it smells like one of mine is too."

Victor took a sniff of his own, then immediately wished he hadn't as the rank stench of putrefying fish hit him right in the nostrils. "Ugh – reminds me of the cannery in summer," he said, covering his nose. "It's Snarks, right? Do they usually smell this bad?"

"Not quite like _this_ , but there's always a distinct odor," Alice replied, eyeing the shadows around them. "Tempered by their preferred habitat, of course. Ice Snarks are too chilly to smell much, while Lava Snarks always reminded me of a whiting left too long in the oven. I suppose it's only natural they'd make the jump from my brain to yours, given your father's business–"

_Rooorwaaaaark. . . ._

The pair spun around, weapons at the ready. Behind them was – was – well, it was definitely a Snark. Victor knew of no other word for a fish with legs. But there were no beady eyes, no long tongue, no toothy jaw or dangling lure. Instead, this Snark was an almost exact replica of the wooden fish that sat atop the Van Dort carriage – just enlarged about tenfold. Two skinny legs that sharply resembled his father's, clad in brown trousers and shoes, were pasted on each side. It croaked at them again, mouth opening and closing like a puppet's. Victor glanced at Alice, who looked as baffled as he. "Um. . . ."

_BLOOORGH!_ A spray of stinking guts exploded out of the creature, its entire body undulating from the force. Victor and Alice scrambled backward as lungs, hearts, and intestines splattered across the cobbles. "Ugh! Oh, that's – I think I prefer _Lava_ Snarks!" Alice cried, covering her mouth as her skin shaded to match her eyes.

"Ooooooh – it's just like that day they dragged me to Billingsgate to jog my memory," Victor groaned, clutching his stomach. "And Father's complained more than once about fish guts all over the floor at work. . .my apologies, Alice, I seem to have imagined up a Cannery Snark."

_Raaaark. . . ._ Two more Cannery Snarks emerged from an alley, kicking the ground with their tiny feet. A Puppet-Hand Spider rappelled down from a window to join them. "Joy – you can make things right by helping me kill them before they ruin my dress," Alice said, flinging the Vorpal Blade at the first Snark. It squealed and flopped over, legs twitching as it tried to push itself back upright. Alice darted forward to deny it the chance with a Hobby Horse to the side. "That's right, stay down! I've made good fish dinners out of worse than you!"

One of the other Snarks pranced toward her, rocking from side to side – Victor shot forward to intercept it. Unfortunately, his foot landed right on a slippery chunk of stomach, and he found his left leg sliding wildly in all directions while his right arm flailed for stability. The Snark stared at him a moment, then decided something so ridiculous needed to be put down and made for him instead. Victor promptly put his wobbliness to good use and fell on it. It screeched and tried to kick him, but he avoided the blow, nailing it in the gills with the Fork. A few hard stabs later, and it was out of its misery. The Spider took the opportunity to leap at his face – he speared it right in the palm, then pinned it to the ground before dousing it with Wine. The trapped creature let out a watery wail, then fell still. "That's what you get!"

"Indeed," Alice agreed, turning on the sole remaining Snark. It launched a fresh stream of guts at her – she butterflied away, reforming with the Teapot Cannon in hand. One blast of green tea later, the fish was flat on the cobbles, tail twitching pathetically. A stab from Victor's Fork quieted even that. "At least this was a relatively small group. I've had to fight up to five at once in my Wonderland."

"Don't give me ideas," Victor muttered. He looked up at the buildings clustered around them, squinting through the thin fog. Grime was streaked across their plaster and stone facades, every window cracked and every door worm-eaten. "It's – dingier than I remember."

"I don't think the residents of this Burtonsville care about keeping things clean," Alice pointed out, giving the crumbling body of the Snark a kick. "So – where do we go?"

"I would think the town square – if only because that's where the Van Dort manor is," Victor said. He pointed along Main Street. "So if we just follow this road, we'll be there in no–"

" _HEAR YE! HEAR YE! VAN DORT BOY AND LIDDELL GIRL NOT DEAD YET!_ "

Victor whipped his head around, glaring. "Oh, for – where _is_ he? He sounds like he's right on top of us!"

"Maybe you've imagined him as a disembodied voice?" Alice suggested, turning in a slow circle and peering into every corner.

"I hope not," Victor grumbled. "It'll be impossible to get rid of him other–"

_CRAAAAAAACKK – BOOOOOOOM!_

The skies opened up again, rain plunging from the clouds in heavy sheets. Victor hastily shielded his eyes as his slowly-drying suit was promptly drenched again. "Oh for – I should have known the weather wouldn't last. . . ."

"If it's any consolation, I thought I saw the crier's shadow on the wall when the lightning struck," Alice told him, fumbling for her Umbrella. "So he's definitely got form beyond the voice. There must be a way to track him down – or avoid him." She patted his arm. "Don't be sour. We've fought a lot worse than this."

_**SCREEEEEEEEE!** _

Victor's entire body went cold. "L-like – like that?" he squeaked.

As one, their heads turned toward the gates. Lightning arced across the sky again, revealing the terrible form of the Conglomeration clawing its way up the path. "Yes, like that," Alice confirmed, almost as pale as Victor. She yanked out a Jackbomb, cranked it three times, then flung it at the bars. "Let's go!"

Victor needed no further encouragement. Grabbing her arm, he tore down the main road, leaving Jack to vent his flame behind them – as well as he could in such a downpour, anyway. A horrible _schri_ _iii_ _eeeeeek_ of iron being wrenched out of place shot after them, soon joined by a high-pitched scream of pain and rage. "Seems like it's getting at least mildly scorched," Alice panted. "I hope it's enough to keep it at bay."

"Me too," Victor said, charging forward. "It looked bigger this time. . .but we'll have more room to fight it properly once we're in the – what?!"

He stumbled to a stop, almost planting his face into the cobbles. Before him, with no explanation, stretched a huge wall, connecting the houses on either side and cutting the road neatly in two. "That's – where did _this_ come from?" he demanded, running his hands over the wet brick. "We're on Main Street! This _has_ to go all the way into town!"

"Not any more it doesn't," Alice observed. She pointed left, to a little alley between the house shoved up against the wall and its neighbor. "Seems like there's a cut-through, though."

"There's not supposed to be!"

"There's not supposed to be a wall, either," Alice responded. "Remember what I said about the Dollmaker and the Queen not making it easy to get to them?" She turned to the right, peeking down another tiny street that Victor was reasonably certain didn't exist in the real Burtonsville. "Perhaps this is your version of the Queen's hedge maze. Only even uglier."

Victor bonked his head against the wall. "I _hate_ my bloody brain!"

"Dealing with your problems is _never_ easy," Alice said sympathetically. She tugged his sleeve as another _BOOOM_ of thunder rolled about the sky. "But giving yourself a concussion doesn't help matters. We have two options – left or right?"

Victor looked between the two openings. "I – um – which direction are you supposed to keep going in a maze to find your way out?"

**_SCREEEEE!_ _!_ ** Alice winced. "Judging by that noise and where it came from – left."

"Fine by me," Victor said, ducking into the alley. "Come on."

They squeezed through and emerged onto what Victor recognized as Ranft Road, between the haberdasher's and the stationery shop. Neither store looked _quite_ how he remembered, though – _Howarth's Hats For Men And Women_ now sported a sign that was a wooden replica of Hatter's famous chapeau, while _Paper Products By Mr. Lowry_ had origami instead of letters and envelopes on display in its front window. Origami weapons, no less – there was a little paper knife on a pedestal, and a sword propped up in the far corner, and a wide-mouthed blunderbuss balanced on its business end, and what looked like a bow leaning against the glass, with a length of twine serving as string and quills scattered all around it like arrows. "I think the Origami Ants have been here," he commented, pointing it out to Alice.

"Indeed? Shame they're such pacifists – we could use a few extra hands," Alice remarked, looking up and down the cobbled street. "Do we just keep going as we were before?"

Victor nodded. "Burtonsville is set up like a big wheel – all the main roads lead straight to the square," he told her, pointing. "We just have to hope that we don't run into any more mysterious walls." He glanced up at the houses lining the left side of the road, with their dangerously-crooked angles and attics that loomed over the street. "And that none of these happen to fall on us." He grimaced as a flash of lightning lit up the windows, turning them briefly into menacing eyes. "Yes, we get it, I hate it here. . . ."

"Perhaps we can arrange it so they collapse upon our enemies instead," Alice said, patting his back. "In the meantime, we should keep moving, before that horrible Conglomeration catches up with us." She frowned. "Er, Victor? Was it just me, or did that thing look a bit–"

_"HEAR YE! HEAR YE! VAN DORT AND LIDDELL ON RANFT ROAD!"_

Out of the corner of his eye, Victor caught sight of a darker patch of black against the dull gray facade of _Howarth's Hats_ , in the familiar shape of a human-sized bell. "There he is!" He whirled toward the disturbance, Fork in hand. "Keep your – nose. . . ."

He blinked as he realized the crier wasn't there. Instead, a Cannery Snark greeted his confused gaze. "What the – did you eat him?" he asked, lowering his weapon slightly.

The Snark _blooorghed_ at him, throwing up quite a lot of guts, but no bells or bell-shaped coats. "That's a no, then," he said, stabbing the Snark between the eyes. It _wreeeeeked_ in pain and scrambled away. "But I know I saw his shadow. . . ."

"As did I," Alice agreed, flinging her Vorpal Blade at the unfortunate fish. It hit true in the gills, driving the Snark to the ground. "Perhaps all he is here is a – loudmouth shade?"

"Maybe. . . ." _Bang! Bang! BANG!_ Victor jerked his head around as doors began flying open up and down the street. "But I think we've got much bigger problems to worry about right now."

With a chorus of hisses and croaks, Snarks poured out of each building, tails waggling as they ran toward the pair. "I concur," Alice said, whipping out the Hobby Horse. She slammed it into the ground, knocking a few unfortunate Snarks off their feet. "You take right, I'll take left!"

"Got it!" Victor yanked out the Wedding Wine and began spraying the mouth of every Snark near him. A few were hit right in the gullet and immediately flopped over, twitching as their bodies turned blue. The others scattered, circling around to come at him from different angles. Victor drowned one that lunged at him from the left, then butterflied out of the way of a stream of guts from the right.

Unfortunately, he reformed right on top of a third fish, which wasted no time in sinking its splintered teeth into his leg. " _Ow!_ " Victor kicked it off, only to stumble into one running up from behind. It latched onto his coat, tearing a chunk out of the hem. "Get away!" he shouted, kicking it as well. _Damn it, it's worse than being surrounded by Slithering Ruins! I need something to distract them for a moment. . . ._

He sensed the weight of Galswell's candle, waiting patiently in the ether. _Better than nothing,_ he decided, pulling it out and slapping it down. To his mild surprise, it was still lit, though melting quite fast. He butterflied away as the Snarks surrounded this curious new toy, _woarking_ at it. _Okay, and now to surprise them with a_ _–_

_FWOOOOOM!_ One of the braver (or perhaps just hungrier) Snarks took a snap at the flame – only for it to flare up like a Roman candle, spewing fire everywhere. The Snarks wailed and writhed as their wooden bodies roasted in the inferno. Victor gawked for a second, then looked at the similarly-astonished Alice. "Well – guess you don't need my Jackbomb anymore!" she finally said, launching a set of sharp-pointed Jacks at one of her own fishy "friends."

"I guess not!" Victor pulled out the Wine again and drowned a Snark who'd managed to escape the blaze. "I never thought me never living down that incident with Lady Everglot would be a _good_ thing. . . ."

"Any port in a storm," Alice said, watching with satisfaction as her Jacks carved the Snark into cannery-ready chunks. She summoned the Croquet Mallet and batted a ball at the final Snark standing. Electricity arced over its scales as the shot connected, forcing it to tap-dance for a moment before falling over, spewing a last load of guts. "Eugh. . .after all this, I'm going to end up just like you – unable to stand the sight of fish, even battered and fried."

"Don't give up fish and chips on my account, Alice," Victor said, eyeing the bodies for any sign of life.

"It's not that I want to, it's just. . . ." Alice wrinkled her nose at a rope of intestines lying nearby. "How does your father _stand_ it?"

"He works in an office," Victor replied. "Though sometimes I also think he must have lost his sense of smell somewhere along the way."

_"HEAR YE! HEAR YE! WHITECHAPEL DUO CAUSE CHAOS! INNOCENT CITIZENS HUNTED DOWN LIKE ANIMALS!"_

"There is _no_ such thing as an innocent Snark!" Alice shouted, whirling and flinging her Vorpal Blade in the direction of the voice. Victor turned just in time to see the shadow yelp and disappear into the darkness between the houses, leaving the Blade to bury itself in the mortar between the cobbles. "If only we could get our hands on him!"

**_SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_**

A massive, squirming fist crushed one of the houses, sending dust and tiles flying. Moments later, the gaping sockets of the Conglomeration appeared above it, face twitching and shifting as Puppet-Hand Spiders and Slithering Ruins jockeyed for position. "I don't suppose we could trick _him_ into doing it for us?" Victor suggested, backing up as Spiders and Ruins dripped off the chin onto the cobbles.

"Probably not," Alice said, yanking out the Teapot Cannon. One _hiiiiiissss-CHOK!_ later, violently green tea was splattered all over the monster's front. "Let's move!"

The Conglomeration roared and swept its hand down, scattering Spiders all over the street as it attempted to backhand them. Alice exploded into butterflies, flying to freedom past the hat shop – but Victor was a second too slow. One wriggling finger caught him in the stomach and launched him straight into the window of _Paper Products By Mr. Lowry_. Victor shut his eyes tight as the glass shattered, slicing his cheek and arms as he landed with a _thud_ among the origami. _Oww! I've got to come up with something akin to meta-essence,_ he thought, touching a cut. His hand fumbled behind him. _Where on earth is the – huh?_

He blinked as something crinkled under his fingers. Pulling it out, he realized it was the origami bow he'd seen before. The other paper weapons were irretrievably crumpled from his implosive entrance, but somehow this one had survived, along with its quills. Which felt – very significant, honestly. But he'd never taken an archery class, no person in their right mind would have let him around arrows, why –

_"Maybe if I had something to help me aim, though. . . ."_

The Conglomeration clawed at the remains of the display, trying to drag him out. Victor snatched up a quill, holding the bow out in front of him the way he'd seen in books. He notched the quill against the side, pulled back the string –

_TWAAAAANG!_ The quill flew true – and to Victor's dark delight, caught the Conglomeration right in its non-existent eye. It screeched and flung its head back, allowing him just enough time to scramble under its chin and over to Alice, who was throwing what looked like an entire deck of razor-edged playing cards into its side. "Alice!"

"Victor!" Alice flung the last card, then took a moment to hug him tight. "Are you all right?"

"Enough to run," Victor assured her. A Puppet-Hand spider came skittering up to them – he pinned it to the pavement with another quill. "Come on!"

"A moment–" Alice found another Jackbomb and, as the Conglomeration turned back to them, hurled the flaming toy into its face. "Let's go!"

They took off, tearing down the street as the Conglomeration howled in agony. "So," Alice added as they pounded along, "new toy?"

"Quill Bow," Victor said, gripping it tight. "I think my subconscious is tired of having to borrow your weapons."

"Does it mind me borrowing yours? I wouldn't mind – gah!"

Alice grabbed onto him as, abruptly, the road before them cracked open, the jagged edges gaping wide like a fanged mouth. Slithering Ruins began oozing up the sides, flinging themselves onto the pavement with wild abandon. "Of _course_ ," Victor hissed, stomping on one. He glanced left and right and spotted another little alley across the road. "This way!" he cried, pulling Alice along.

"Got it!" Alice tossed a Clockwork Bomb to distract the Ruins, then they were running together along the edge of the crack, before plunging into the relatively safe shadows of the alley. "Whew. . .apparently, you believe you need an army to fight to justify getting all these new weapons."

"I don't like it any more than you do," Victor replied, anxiously plucking the string of his Bow. He inched along the narrow passage, keeping a wary eye out for danger. "Maybe Lumley Lane will be a little more accommodating?"

"I doubt it." Alice winced as another scream from the Conglomeration echoed behind them. "That bloody thing is worse than the Executioner."

"At least it doesn't have a scythe." Victor peeped out the mouth of the alley, glancing left and right. Again, the street was a run-down parody of its real-world counterpart, full of decaying houses and a garden supplies store across the way. Victor squinted at the tools on display in the front window, distorted by the rain. "Oh, no, wait, never mind, there's one waiting for it right there."

Alice peeped under his outstretched arm. "So there is. Except that it's a bit too small for our friend. . .and I think – damn!"

She abruptly grabbed Victor's sleeve, dragging him back into the alley. "What?" Victor protested, only for her hand to slap itself over his mouth. She shook her head, then pointed out into the street. Victor, frowning, took another peek –

And spotted a familiar bell-shaped shadow slithering along the house fronts. "Oh," he said in a much lower voice. "Figures. The actual crier does have regular rounds – why wouldn't the Loudmouth Shade?"

"Mmmm – perhaps we can find a way to sneak past and avoid another confrontation," Alice whispered, eyeing the Shade as it paused in a doorway. "How does the more tangible version move?"

"He goes up and down every street in turn," Victor replied, as the Shade moved on. "So he's going up toward the town square now. . .if we wait for him to go on, and then just stay behind him. . .unless you think it's safer to wait for him to come back and then make a run for it while he's moving the other way. . . ."

"We might as well try the first – I don't fancy waiting for the Slithering Ruins to figure out where we've gone," Alice said, glancing behind them with a grimace. "Of course, we have to get _across_ the street too. . .what do you think he'll make of a cloud of insects?"

"If we let him get far enough ahead, hopefully not much," Victor responded. He watched carefully as the Loudmouth Shade slid past the garden shop and across the dull facades of the houses on the other side. "And I think there's a gap just next to the store there we can squeeze into. . .on three?" Alice nodded. "Okay." Victor took a deep breath. "One. . .two. . .three!"

Their bodies exploded, blue and gray wings fluttering against each other as they soared across the street and into the gap. The Shade turned, little bell-shadow raised suspiciously – then, seeing nothing but blank sidewalk behind him, shrugged and turned back to his rounds. Victor reformed against the side door of the shop, sucking in a relieved breath. "Whew!"

"Good work," Alice said, patting his back as she returned to human flesh. "Now let's just make sure it's not all for naught." She stuck her head out of the alley, scanning the area for enemies. "He still hasn't noticed us," she reported. "And I don't–"

She paused as her eye fell on the store window. She raised an eyebrow, then stepped out and stood in front of it for a proper look. "Ah. Victor?"

"What?"

"Go inside the shop and pick up the scythe, will you?"

"What??"

Alice beckoned him over. Victor, increasingly puzzled, went and stood next to her. There were a variety of gardening tools in the window – hoes, rakes, forks, trowels, even a wheelbarrow – but the scythe stood front and center, illuminated by a gas lamp. And in front of it was a poster:

THE GRIM SCYTHE

Slice through garden pests!

Reap the rewards of your harvest!

THE MOST PREFERRED IN THE UNDERWORLD!

"Ah," Victor nodded. "Definitely _not_ for the Conglomeration then. I'll go try the door." He stepped toward the alley, then paused. "You know this suggests that Shade is going to see us any moment now. . . ."

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Alice replied, gently pushing him on. "Go complete your starter set."

"All right." Victor went back into the gap and pushed on the door. It opened easily, revealing a shop that was almost nothing but dust and cobwebs. He crept inside, tiptoeing his way over to the display. The Scythe waited patiently, regal in the light of its lamp. Slowly and carefully, he lifted it out of its little stand and turned to go –

Just in time to see a Puppet-Hand Spider launch itself at his face. " _GAH!_ "

He swung the Scythe wildly, catching the fleshy arachnid with the pole side and sending it flying into the window. It crashed right through the glass, landing with a _SPLAT!_ on the cobbles as Alice scrambled out of the way. Seconds later, a familiar bell echoed up and down the street. _"HEAR YE! HEAR YE! DANGEROUS LUNATICS ON_ _LUMLEY LANE_ _!"_

"Well, that's that then," Alice said, giving the Spider a solid kick. She looked around as more leapt out of nearby windows and scuttled out of sewer grates. "And oh, look, Victor, it's your favorite."

"I can see that," Victor said between gritted teeth. He climbed out the broken window, adjusting his grip on the Scythe. "Let's see how _this_ blade works!"

_click-click-click-click-click –_ The Spiders wasted no time, swarming toward them practically on top of each other. Victor raised the Scythe high and brought it down in a long, vicious sweep. It cut through three Spiders like butter and nipped a finger off a fourth – and then kept going, dragging Victor right as he hung on for dear life, lest it pull itself right out of his hands. "Perhaps a bit less enthusiastic, dear," Alice said, pulling out the Pepper Grinder and sending another bunch of spiders skittering back under the hail of peppercorns.

"I'll get the hang of it!" Victor managed to bring the swing back around the other way, killing another two Spiders before arresting the Scythe's momentum. Another hissed and shot string at Victor's legs, tangling them up and trying to yank him down. "Bloody – stop that!" He planted the Scythe's handle in the ground for balance and summoned his Fork, using the sharpened edge to hack at the web.

"Allow me!" Alice darted in, cut him loose, then hopped back. The Spider snarled and turned on her, springing for her stomach. The Croquet Mallet knocked it away like a naughty hedgehog, smashing it against a nearby lamppost. "That's a peg point," Victor joked, stepping free of the strings.

"Good, that means I'm winning." Alice twirled, sweeping the Mallet along the cobbles in a brilliant blue circle of electricity and sending more Spiders flying. Victor watched as their little bodies yielded to the shocks, all admiration. _God, she's amazing. . ._ _I really am lucky, aren't I? I just hope I stay that way. . . ._

Clammy fingers clawing their way up his leg brought him abruptly back to the present. Scowling, he levered the Spider off with the Fork, then brought the Scythe's blade down on it hard, crudely whacking it in two. "Awful little. . . ."

"Fortunately they're easier to clear out this time," Alice said, arresting her spin in favor of battering the one Spider who'd managed to avoid her previous massacre.

"Well, they are pretty fragile in the end," Victor noted, swapping to his new Bow as the remaining Spiders attempted to make a climb for it up the shop facade. _Thwuk! Thwuk!_ They screamed as the quills pinned them to the brick. Victor switched to the Wine and drowned them in a heavy stream of red. "I think they're only really a problem when they team up with something else."

**_SCREEEEEEEEE!!!_**

Right on cue, the Conglomeration appeared at the end of the street, Ruins and Spiders falling off it as it smashed through a house. Victor groaned. "One day I'll learn to stop tempting fate. . . ."

"Hmmm. Fire doesn't seem to be working as well as I hoped," Alice observed. She pulled out the Ice Wand and began spraying the cobbles, icing them over until they shone like a skating rink. "Perhaps cold will do a better job." She glanced up with a frown as the monster scrambled towards them, jerking this way and that like a poorly-puppeteered marionette. "I swear, it looks a little less like Bumby each time we see it. . . ."

"I'm not sticking around to get a good look at its face," Victor said, grabbing her hand.

"For the best." Alice sprayed the ground one last time, then the two of them dashed toward the square. _"HEAR YE! HEAR YE!"_ the Loudmouth Shade started as they sprinted past. _"TWO TROUBLEMAKERS – oh dear. LOOK OUT!"_

_CRASH-CRUNCH-CRUSHHH!_ Victor looked behind him to see the Conglomeration digging itself out of a dry goods store, scattering bags of grain across the ice. It screamed and scrabbled for purchase on the slick surface, hands sliding this way and that. "Ice does seem to work better," he reported to Alice, summoning the Scythe again. He swung it across the distracted Shade, who shrieked and disappeared with one last rattle of his bell. "Told you I'd get the hang of it."

"Glad to hear it on both counts," Alice said, shaking her hair out of her face. She glanced up as the clouds grew heavier above them, pouring down more rain. "And hopefully this will make it slipperier still. . .I don't suppose you could imagine up some convenient Eat Me Cake so we could end this the same way I ended the Executioner?"

"I can't keep a clear picture in my head," Victor admitted, wincing as another _CRAAASH!_ echoed behind them. "Honestly, right now, all I want is to get to that bloody – aaaah!"

He butterflied backward on instinct as his foot hit air. "Damn - another crack?" he demanded as he reformed. "Quick, Alice, where's the cut-through?"

"Ah – there isn't one?" Alice looked left and right, gritting her teeth. "No, you couldn't fit a piece of paper between those houses. . . ."

"Well, we can't go back!" Victor cried, his words backed up by a **_SCREEEE!_** He darted up to the front door of the nearest house and yanked on the doorknob. It slipped out of his fist, refusing to yield. "Damn it. . .so where are we supposed to go? I mean, if this was _your_ Wonderland, we could just jump over–"

He stopped. He and Alice stared at each other. Then, in unison, they tore toward the ragged edge, leaping with all their might.

Sure enough, twin cushions of jewel-toned feathers and fluttering leaves appeared beneath them, carrying them safely over the gap. Victor groaned as he twirled to get a bit more height. "I. Am. An. Idiot."

"Take comfort – so am I," Alice said, patting his back. She butterflied forward, landing neatly on the other side. "I should have suggested this with – well, all right, the wall was a bit too high, but that other crack. . . ."

"Maybe we wouldn't have been allowed anyway," Victor admitted, landing beside her. "That one was spewing Ruins, after all. Perhaps something awful would have tried to snatch us up."

"Maybe." Alice frowned as the Conglomeration finally worked itself free of the ice, tearing up the street in a mad scramble to reach them. "I don't trust just this to keep the awful thing already trying to snatch us up away, though. Perhaps one of your Candles?"

"Coming right up." Victor pulled out a fresh one and tossed it. It landed surprisingly neatly on the other side of the gap, melting down with a speed unknown in the real world – then flared up as the Conglomeration's malformed fingers came down on it. The monster screamed and rolled this way and that as the fire raced over its flesh. Alice added one of her Jackbombs for good measure, then they took to their heels again. "I wonder if _that_ will finally convince it to stop chasing us."

"Unlikely – it took me quite a few tries to finally shake the Executioner." Alice threw a rude hand gesture back at the monster, then glanced at Victor with a frown. "I _still_ say its face was different. Longer and thinner than Bumby's. And the beard seemed to be fading too."

"I didn't really notice," Victor confessed, rubbing the back of his head. "I'll take your word for it, though. Perhaps that means it's getting weaker. Losing cohesion."

"One hopes."

The rain lightened as they continued up the street, reduced once again to a drizzle as they reached the end of the road. Victor brightened as he recognized the back of the Van Dort fish shop, and the founder's statue beyond it. "Oh good – we made it."

"At last," Alice said, wringing out her hair. "What horrors are lurking in here, do you suppose?"

Victor took one last look behind them, to see the Conglomeration, still smoldering, escape over some rickety roofs. "Hopefully – nothing worse than what we've already seen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mentioned roads and shop names all reference people who worked on _Corpse Bride_ :
> 
> \-->"Ranft Road" is named after Joe Ranft, an executive producer who tragically died in a car crash in 2005. The film is dedicated to his memory.
> 
> \-->"Howarth's Hats For Men And Women" is named after Penny Howarth, one of the modelers.
> 
> \-->"Paper Products By Mr. Lowry" is named after Nelson Lowry, the art director.
> 
> \-->"Lumley Lane" is named after Joanna Lumley, Maudeline Everglot's voice actress.


End file.
